Quibbling

Jen and I had woken up at the ass crack of dawn to finish up our packing and sit down for one last meal in Nicaragua. We had wanted to take our time, have a leisurely breakfast. We did. I stared out into the ocean and took a few departing pictures. We said our good-byes to all the friendly faces who had taken care of us at the resort, then began our journey back to the U.S.ofA.

It was a treacherous three hour drive to Managua, two hour wait at the airport, 2.5 hour flight back to Miami, then customs and immigration. Jen went SFO. I went JFK. And while waiting, I decided to treat myself to my favorite comfort drink, a peppermint hot chocolate (yes whipped cream on top) at Starbucks. I myself am a corporate girl so I love me my Walmart, Target, Costco, and Starbucks–which makes me smile whenever I’ve been away from the country for a while.

The line at the MIA Starbucks stretched from one terminal to the next, but I didn’t mind waiting. I was just happy to be back in the land of the English-speaking. I waited patiently, tapping my foot to pass the time.

The big white middle-aged man in front of me swayed back and forth from side to side, right foot then left foot, swooshing his chubby body like a see-saw. His wife was similarly chubbed out. She wasn’t waiting in line, but zig-zagged in and out with a red stroller—with a baby in tow who was several months old.

Calmly we waited, I tapped my foot; he see-sawed back and forth. That’s when the yelling started. The wife furiously strolled up to her husband, fuming “YOU IDIOT!!! WE’RE AT GATE 4. THE MONITOR SAYS GATE 4!”

I tried not to stare and pretended like classical music was being disemminated through the intercom. Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do… I knew my gate was 46. I looked up to confirm. Large white letters and numbers indicated Gates 46 and 47.

The husband’s pacing quickened. “Are you sure you weren’t looking at the departure time or the flight number?” He asked timidly, imploringly.

“I THINK I’M INTELLIGENT ENOUGH TO KNOW THE GATE NUMBER FROM THE DEPARTURE TIME, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!”

He continued to stare at her, not knowing what to do. It was obvious who wore the pants in the family, but it looked like he wanted his Latte more than I wanted my Cocoa.

She persisted. “GATE 4 IS CLEAR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE AIRPORT. WE’RE AT GATE 47 ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER END.”

The husband stood his ground, not moving. “Gate 4 can’t be that far away. I think I saw the sign just before we turned into this terminal.”

Steam came off the top of her head. “GATE 4 IS ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE. IT’S AT ANOTHER TERMINAL.”

I never stuck around to see how the quibble panned out. Even though I was close to ordering, I couldn’t take the loud voices anymore which makes me realize how much of an avoider I am. I really dislike watching/hearing/being around fighting. It makes me nervous.

I walked down to the closest kiosk, picked up a bag of Dorritos and a Diet Coke. The Starbucks peppermint hot chocolate wasn’t worth it anymore.