I had awoke that morning with a red watery eye, outlined with yellow crust. Conjunctivitis. I had struggled throughout the earlier part of the year with consistent bouts of the "Pink Eye." I only hoped that this was brought on by stress and would not have me arriving contagious and irritable. I arrived at O'Haire International Airport with twenty-five minutes until my departure. As I hurried, making sure to bump and growl at anyone in my way, I boarded the train which would take me to my terminal. As I arrived at terminal 5, I was dismayed to find that the check-in counter for Air India was closed. However, Expedia had mailed my paper ticket and I assumed security would let me through. As I impatiently looked at the clock, 12 minutes to departure, I tried to smile in an effort to win over the TSA agent. She quickly informed me that I needed a boarding pass to get through security. I huffed and informed her that I had already gone to the counter and no one was there to issue me my boarding pass. She gave me a flat "sorry" and told me that I should knock on the door. Before she could finish distributing her profound advise, I was already rolling over the foot of the young boy who dared to stand in my way. I felt the sweat roll between my breast as my braids clung to my neck. Thinking of the law of attraction, I tried to tell myself that I have the power to change my future events. You'll make it G, you'll make it. I arrived back at the counter for Air India prepared to jump over the ticketing counter and bang on the door, when an Indian woman with a walkie-talkie and Air India shirt asked if she could help me. I nervously explained to her that my flight from Detroit was delayed for two hours and that I was desperately hoping to make my connecting flight to Bangalore. She looked at me and stated: you're lucky come with me. As we crossed over the scales for the luggage and entered the room behind the ticket counter, I felt my eyes burn as the water oozed from my infected right eye. I reached into my red Ralph Lauren duffle bag at pulled out the Kleenex and eye drops. The lady informed me that the flight to Bangalore was delayed until 9pm. She radioed her supervisor to ensure that it was okay to book me on this flight. The supervisor approved, just as I dropped the medicine in my eye. As she printed my boarding pass, I looked at the clock and realized I had 50 minutes to catch my flight. She informed me that she was going to book me straight through to India so that I would no longer have the six hour lay over in Mumbai. Instead I would connect through Frankfurt, with a two hour lay over before going to Mumbai for a two hour lay over. I would not need to collect my baggage in Mumbai, she would have it go straight to Bangalore. Wonderful! Thank you Lord, I'm going to make it. As I graciously shook the woman's hand I began to slow my steps as I realized how badly I needed to go to the rest room.
As I cleared security, I secretly hoped that all of my media equipment packed in my carry on would pass through smoothly. As I removed my slip on shoes and placed my two bags on the security belt, I noticed that there was a family of eight trying to get through security and apparently they didn't understand English. The grandfather kept setting off the metal detector and looked confused as to why. By the third time he went through, the TSA agent decided to take him into the holding chambers. You know the place where you have to spread em' and lift your arms and legs. As the minutes passed, I began to become nervous that I was going to waste my bathroom time in the line and have to use the airplane toilet. As we all waited with our boarding passes in our hands, the TSA agent eventually was able to get all of the family members through. As my Canon Rebel digital camera, Sony HD handycam, Lacy transportable hard drive, Mac powerbook and cellular phone went through the x-ray, I received questionable looks from the TSA screen agent before being given the nod to continue. I quickly relieved myself in the bathroom and then headed towards the counter with 23 minutes to spare. However, as I approached the counter I was shocked to see that there were no passengers waiting as the counter clerk looked up at me and ruffly told me that they had been waiting for me. I stammered as I tried to tell him that I didn't think that the flight left until 9 and that....before I could finish he had ripped my boarding pass and instructed the agent at the door that she was here, send her down. Who was she? Was she me? I entered the plane and was greeted by some of the most beautiful stewardess that I had every seen. The women were dressed in traditional Indian sarees and their hair and makeup was impeccable. I smiled as the woman bowed with her hands clasped in front of her. I looked down at my boarding pass to discover that I was sitting in row 78h. 78? How many rows were on this plane. As I tried to count and mathematically calculate how many seats were on the plane, I looked up and was shock to see: excuse my ignorance, so many Indians! Yes, I was flying Air India to India, however, I had never seen so many Indians gathered in one place. As I squeezed down the narrow aisle my eyes quickly scanned the faces of these brown people. No, they were not Black or African, however, they too encompassed every color of the brown rainbow. From vanilla to coffee, they were as varied as my people. I found my seat, which thankfully was an aisle seat next to an Indian boy who appeared to be about 13. I gave a weak smile as I took my seat and felt the exhaustion pass through my body. One more thing to do. I needed to call my mother for she had wrung my phone incessantly to see if I made my connecting flight. I informed her I had and to call my hostess and let her know that I would be arriving two hours earlier than previously scheduled. I inconspicuously sniffed my body to see how painful this ride would be for my neighbors. It was okay, the Secret deodorant wasn't telling on me:) I wanted a drink, a shot of vodka that could put me out for the the next 8.5hrs. However, I had noticed earlier as I scanned the faces of the passengers that I was, as I usually am on international flights, the only Black...well, I guess I wasn't the only Black person, but I was the only Black American on the plane. Which made me wonder why that was? Why did I never see Black Americans as I switched planes in Switzerland, Frankfurt, Spain, etc.? Anyhow, true to the stigma's that I'd been taught as a child, don't be actin' like a fool round dese' white folks. They weren't white but the notion still remained the same: when you're the only Black American you always have to be conscious that you represent more than yourself. As such, I decided to pass on asking the stewardess for some liqka' and instead I popped 3 benadryls. Hopefully, this would stop the eye from running and knock me out for the flight. Let's just say, I didn't make it to: could you please turn off all electronics...before I was knocked out.
