The car screeches to a halt. My mask is on. I jump out the driver-side door, sprint to the trunk, rummage through seven bags, grab my backpack and suitcase , and boom…
…I’m off.
Left. Right. Fast. Slow. I weave through slow moving travelers on my way to security. At TSA Pre Check, the line’s longer than usual.
Damn.
There are twenty people ahead of me. “What do I do? At this point, I’m guessing there’s five minutes until my plane shuts its doors and begins its journey — with or without me.
My blood pressure’s rising. My eyes are scanning. My mind is racing.
If I stand in line, there’s no chance I’m making it onboard. If I cut others without asking, they’ll get pissed. I’m talking to myself. “Okay, you got this Kyle, be courageous and get to the front of the line.”
I speed-walk to the front.
Talking fast, I say, “Hi, my plane closes its doors in five minutes, would it be okay if I got in front of you?”
The lady nods and gives a bit of a smug look as if to say, ‘sure, but we’re all in a hurry.’ I get to the man sitting at the high-topped security desk, show him my ticket and ID. He gives me the go-ahead to put my items through the x-ray machines and then get in line to go through the metal detectors. There’s still one person in front of me.
Three minutes to doors closing.
I ask the man if I can cut. He kindly says, “yeah for sure! Good luck man!”
I get through security and take off for my gate faster than Usain Bolt in the olympics.
Two minutes left.
I weave through people like a slalom skier.
I hardly notice my shoelaces are untied from racing through security. My backpack’s flopping around. I tighten the straps, mid stride. My suitcase — a roller bag with four wheels —is mobile, but isn’t behaving like I need it to.
There’s people everywhere. I look up, I’m only at Gate A2. I need to get to A20 in the next 90 seconds. My strides are long. My focus is narrow. My mission is clear.
There are hundreds of people in the airport, most of whom are in my way. It’s so damn crowded.
My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. I’m nervous, but on the surface, I look calm and ready (kinda).
But there’s an issue.
In front of me, there’s an older couple walking slowly. I can tell this will be a problem. They’re directly in my path.
If I can maneuver this well, I’ll make the flight — I think.
I’m five seconds from them, this is a make – or break moment.
As I get closer, I see a small gap between the Joseph-A-Banks pop-up sign and the elderly couple. I know I can’t make it through this tight gap with my body, backpack and suitcase.
…so I do the unthinkable…
…I release my suitcase to roll on it’s own to the left side of the sign while I run on the right, in between the sign and the couple.
Without missing a step, I grab the suitcase and continue on. No one notices but me. But damn, it was awesome!
Thirty seconds left.
I’m passing gate A18 when I make eye contact with the gate agent. I can tell she’s about to close the gate and give the ok to send the plane.
I pick up the pace. Thirteen seconds left. Gate A19 is flying past my peripheral vision.
Ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven…
I knock over a confused little kid but don’t have time to apologize.
Six…five…four…
I get to the desk..
Three…two…one..
“I’m on this flight and I am late. … Wait!! ”I practically yell as I try to catch my breath.
The gate agent says, “huh?”
So I explained the situation in less than five seconds.
“Traffic. Sprinted. Almost missed. I’m HERE” I’m so out of breath.
She smiles and seems to understand. I can’t help myself, so I ask..
“By chance, are there any exit rows available?
She says, “honey, with that type of hustle, “you’re getting first class.”
I say, “really?” She says, “nah, but there is an exit row. Have a great flight.”
And that was the day I realized, you don’t have to be two hours early to the airport like your parents said. I went drop-off to gate in just 6 minutes.