Night in Philadelphia

What was I thinking? My husband had to work, so I deemed traveling with my mom and young daughter a good idea. After all, we were going to visit Mom's family. Moreover, having another adult along on the 2,000-mile trip was prudent, I reasoned. It would be a mother-daughter vacation with me as the mother and the daughter!

The flight from Phoenix to Philadelphia was uneventful enough. My white knuckles were nearly alleviated thanks to Mom's incessant chatter and embarrassing drinking habit. "Stewardess!" she called, unaware of her faux pas, "Another coffee please?"

When we landed in Philly, our fun began. The airport was teeming with planes, so ours had to wait on the tarmac for nearly an hour. By the time we exited, our connecting flight was long gone. No more until the following morning, the airline worker informed us.

The city was hosting a massive dentists' convention, which is tremendous, I suppose, if you are a sugarless-gum-survey-person. "What brand do you recommend to your patients who chew gum?" Not so thrilling to someone stranded at the airport, yearning for any hotel or motel bed.

My daughter and I dined on nachos and soda before the last snack bar closed. Mom scored her drug of choice (24 ounces was the biggest, to her dismay). A little creamer and she was set. Tired, edgy, and miserable, we traversed the empty airport seeking a comfortable spot.

"I'm sleepy," my daughter whimpered.

"I cannot believe we're stuck in this place! I feel like that refugee guy in France!" I half whined, half spat, regressing closer to my teens with each passing minute.
"I wonder if there's a coffee machine somewhere," Mom mused.

I rummaged behind unmanned counters and found lumpy pillows, but no blankets. The rows of plastic chairs stuck together with metal arms were not conducive to sleeping, but neither was the greasy, gum stained carpet. We slid two sets of chairs together so that our heads and shoulders rested on one seat, our feet on another. Our bottoms drooped between like human hammocks. That lasted maybe ten minutes.

My resourceful daughter discovered a wheelchair to curl up in. I stopped caring about grease and gum, collapsing onto the floor.

"I think I just saw someone walk by with a cup of coffee! I'll be back!" Mom bubbled.

Miraculously, we survived until morning. Mom hugged me as we boarded our plane.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" she cajoled.

"No, Mom," I relented. "Thanks for coming."

"Happy to, sweetheart," she answered. I felt guilty for my less than gracious attitude and what I imagined must be my own exaggerated view of the woman. We hurled our carry-ons into the overhead compartment and settled into our seats.

Mom reached over and patted my hand. "I sure hope they will have coffee on the flight," she gushed. "Oh, STEWARDESS!"