No Way We'll Be Getting Any Cocktail Peanuts After This!

Hi MM readers - Tiff here, aka "Fannee Doolee" - Nancy's niece. I asked Nancy if I could guest post while she is on vacation. Ironically, I am on vacation, too, and not too far from Thelma & Louise (or Lucy & Ethel, as the case may be). My vacation started with an experience with a Delta employee that had me not only missing my blogging days, but seriously concerned about the mental health of airline employees . . .

We flew out Sunday morning, EARLY. Not surprisingly, I bustle up to the gate 5 minutes before boarding, with An and baby Bridget in tow. We check in, get a claim tag for the car seat, and prepare to gather our bags, when the Delta gate agent shoves two frequent flyer applications at me and An. He doesn't ask us, but tells us - "Here, fill these out and bring them right back to me." I plan on using my three remaining minutes before boarding to hit the rest room, but rather than explain that to Sir Pushy, I shove the applications, Delta pens attached, into my carry-on bag and prepare to board.

I run to the bathroom, run back, and gather my baby and my bags as they call our zone to board. As I walk past, my hands obviously full, the gate guy again asks, "So, did you fill out those applications for me?" I shake my head and roll my eyes as I walk past, thinking the answer must be obvious. "I'll do it on the plane and turn them in at the next airport." I call out.

"Wait - I need those pens back!"

Like I said, it's early, I'm pre-occupied, so I assume I must have heard him wrong. He really didn't yell after me to bring back two very cheap ink pens, did he?

Squish, push, shove, lift, cram, cram, buckle - I am winded and sweaty by the time we are settled in our next-to-the-last-row seats, carry-on luggage stowed, and all other passengers impatiently waiting for us to get Bridget quieted down.

I look up, and who do I see walking down the isle, all the way to the back of the plane, to find me - the lady with the baby - who I'm now trying to discretely nurse.

"Mam, could I get those pens back from you? Those are really hard to come by."

Dumbfounded, I dig through my bag, but can only find one. The other is now part of my permanent (and apparently priceless) collection of writing utensils:


I mean, could this really be worth more than the apparent 39 cents? Should put it up on e-Bay? Is there a special auction listing for items precious only to disfunctional Delta airline employees?

. . . . and now, back to your regular programming. Thanks, Nanc!