I'm Not Clear on My Point....Yet!

I have no idea what the point of this story is. If you read it, perhaps you'll "get the point or points" and share with me.

Once upon a time, several months ago, I registered for a workshop on a hypnotherapy tool in which I desire to get more proficient. The workshop was Saturday/Yesterday in Orlando at a hotel near the airport.

Thinking that I could do this as a day trip, I booked a flight to leave Atlanta at OhDarkThirty and arrive in Orlando at 8:45am, just in time for the workshop’s beginning. My best friend volunteered to take me to the airport - about an hour from her home but, at the hour of the day, there shouldn't be much traffic.

I arrived at the airport with two hours to spare and made my way to TSA. Little did I know that this was where the next 21 hours would go Thelma & Louise on me.

It's now my turn to put my shoes, belt and technology in a basket, which I did. "Do you have wallet?" I was asked. To my YES, my local TSA professional demanded that put my wallet in a amall, open container. 

(Now, everything which is physically important to me is in a container, soon to disappear into a machine being watched by strangers)

My belongs disappeared into the black TSA hole and I made my way into the machine which requires that I put my hands over my head. Convinced that I was no threat, I was instructed to exit the machine and wait for my belongings. 

Finally, my belongs revealed themselves as they emerged from the darkness which had held them captive. I now had my belt, shoes and technology. But not my wallet. 

I got the attention of a TSA agent away from whatever she was involved in with her coworkers and told her that I had not received my wallet. 

"When did you last have it?” The part of my brain which is SMART ASS quickly came up with SMART ASS answers which I discarded with sadness. 

“What color was it?" she asked. What color WAS it it? Not what color IS it? I told her that my wallet was black, that I had it when I walked up the TSA conveyer belt. She walked away to ask serval other TSA professionals if they had seen a black wallet that “that guy over there” claims to have had it when he walked in.. They all responded as if they required proof that I had actually walked into the airport with a wallet. 

Since my wallet was not visible to anyone, she looked into the belly of the beast to see if it had somehow freed itself from the plastic container and had taken up residence there.

No, my wallet was not in the tummy of the beast. But, over on a table, there was an upside-down container suspiciously similar to the one which had last seen my wallet. The TSA agent, on a whim, flipped it over and....Behold, the heavens opened, the angels sang as she handed me my wallet and then walked wordlessly away.

With all my goodies in my possession, I descended the escalator to "The Plane Train". Yes, the Atlanta airport has given its train a name. Not a silly name like WXIAs Wizometer gives each day in the week a numeric grade on how great it’s going to be, but a a $25 name a freshly minted UGA marketing graduate would have been embarrassed to pitch.

I boarded the "Plane Train" and took my place in a seat reserved for just for me. Well, not JUST for me but for all who are in my experience category.

And off we go....sort of...until the "Plane Train" driver (which I think is HAL) slams on the breaks, sending all passengers flying to the front of the apparatus. 

Now, a lovely voice (am I hearing voices again????? I thought we were done with that! Go away! I'll get back with you later in Orlando)

"Your train has stopped due to a mechanical malfunction. Your train will resume operations as soon as possible."

OK, I've now identified the source of the voice and I feel much better. But it took 20 minutes for HAL to determine and resolve his problem and now, we are off again.

Silly man that I am, I found pleasure in the knowledge that the setbacks of the day were behind me and that I was off to see The Hypnosis Wizard who would teach me the stuff for which I had paid.

After my arrival in Orlando, I made my way to the transportation lane where I was told to wait for Ronnie. Ronnie was on his way from the hotel.

When Ronnie arrived, I discovered he wasn't Ronnie at all. At this point I didn't care about his name that much.

The driver got out of his van and I said to him,' "I’m Keith Ivey. Are you looking for me?" His answer was simple and direct: "If you're going to the hotel, yes. Let's go!"

In spite of the morning glitches, it was 9am and I was walking into the workshop right on time. 

I don't know what I was expecting but my expectations didn't match my perception of reality. First, there were just 15 or so people. Since this workshop was produced and promoted by a big time hypnosis organization, I expected a few more warm bodies. Maybe I could actually meet some folks with whom I shared mutual interests and could be the beginning a long and lasting friendship.

The second thing I noticed: The speaker had NO PA system. No mic. NO speakers. And, since I was the last guy in the room, my spot was in the rear of the room. 

As he spoke, I discovered I could actually pick up a few words now and then. So, when he called a break, I grabbed a chair and moved it to the "head of the class" - a spot you would have seldom found me in any of my educational experiences.

After the break, as I listened to the speaker talk, I realized that, when I was in the back of the room, I was getting as much of the content as I was in the front. But, I had paid good money to hear this guy, so, let’s go!

A month or so later....no it was just two hours, but it sure seemed like at least a month. In fact, I thought I had died because events in life were passing through my mind. But, NO! I was still alive and so was he.

Finally, he announced lunch and dismissed the small but intimate group. I went to the front desk to ask for directions to the hotel restaurant. "Oh, our restaurant is only open for breakfast" I was told. I just stood there for a moment, waiting for the front desk gal to deliver the punchline. But there was no punchline and there was no lunch, either.

"Where would you suggest a person would go for lunch? I asked with a certain amount of pleading in my voice? "Well, if you drive about a mile in that direction, you'll come to restaurant row."

Drive? How far? What direction? 

It was at this very moment that I made several significant decisions: 

1. The next time I fly it will be first class International.

2. I will never attend a workshop on my chosen topic unless it's taught by my mentor or her recommend teachers.

3. Once I walk about a mile to lunch carrying my 40lb pound backup, I'm done for the day! Full Stop!

So, I set out for Restaurant Row, bringing with me all of the hopes and dreams I could find in the depths of my very tired and sleepy soul. About 45 minutes later, I made it and entered the very first bar/restaurant I encountered. Taking off my sport coat (yes, I wore a coat to a professional workshop in Orland), I positioned myself at my favorite bar location - near the "let's make the drinks here" server station.

In just moments a very attractive young woman walked up to me (from behind the bar) and uttered the most luscious words I'd heard all day - "May I get you something to drink and eat?"

About four hours later, four Modelos, a pimento cheese hamburger and spinach dip, I had attended two hypnosis workshops online, responded to emails and Facebook and was ready to take the walk back to the hotel to catch its shuttle to the airport.

Confession: I got lost. Not WAY lost. Just turned around. After all, for Modelos will do that to anyone! As often is the case, the young woman who lives in my phone was quick to get me headed in the right direction. And, as it turns out, my walk back only took 15 minutes.

Back on the shuttle and off to the airport and I’ll be there five hours before my flight home. 

I had five hours to burn and, to tell the truth, I was pretty fried. Up at 4am for a 6:00am fight and a full day listening, eating and drinking in the paradise called Orlando had worn me out. So, I found a secluded section near my gate to settle into and watch some Netflix. Once again, I believed the crazy of the day was past and I was well on way home to my own bed! 

The airline had other plans.

Ten minutes before boarding the departure gate was changed. So, off another gate on the concourse. No biggie. Let's just board that hunk of tin and get home.

Once at the correct gate, boarding was pretty simple. Stand in a long line, when it's your turn, scan your boarding past on the thingy in front of the gate agent and get on the plane. 

For me, that's not as easy as it used to be. I really need glasses and, for me to look for ROW 24, SEAT C on plastic under the luggage compartments can be something of a challenge and not one with which the voice I depend on can be helpful.

Found it! I'm on the aisle....without paying $75 to select a seat. YES!

It's pushback time and we're off...for about 90 seconds. The plane comes to a lurching stop (reminded me of the train at Atlanta airport - could HAL be the pilot? Surely not)

We sat there with the air conditioner off because I'm sure that when an aircraft needs to stop for maintenance off the gate, it's best to turn off the air conditioner. But I'm also sure the flight attendants will tell us what's up in just moments.

And they did: "Ladies and gentlemen. We are stopped just off the gate because our pilots have determined we have engine problems. The energy flow ......blah blah blah). She actually described the problem is if there was an aircraft mechanic onboard who would jump up and say: "No problem! I've handled tons of aircraft engine problems. I'll save this flight!"

I watched and waited but no on jumped.

It was now that a flight attendant came down the aisle with a cart. I hoped that the cart contained at least water and permission to go to the restroom. I was not inclined to cross this crew. They looked like an LA gang. After all, by this time we had been sitting near the gate for about 30 minutes. "Do you have water onboard?' She assured me she did and that it was only a $2 charge per bottle.

Now the voice in my head was very stern: "Patience, Keith. This is NOT the place to get on one of your world famous soapboxes and make a scene. That scene can land you in jail OR worse and your LegalShield law firm will NOT be impressed with your behavior."

In the absence of food, water and Modelos, I did the next best thing: I went to sleep. When I woke up I thought we had landed in Atlanta but we were still 25 yards from the gate. 

(PAUSE - Do you know why aircraft leave the gate and stop just short with a problem?)

(PLAY) By this time I assumed we might not be leaving Orlando. It was now 11:30 pm on a 9:30 pm flight. But, I was wrong. HAL got everything fixed (at least I was hoping he did. Engines, I've been told, are somewhat critical to the flying process.)

Finally! we are in the air on our way to Atlanta. My day is almost over. 

When I arrived in Atlanta at 2:30 am, I discovered several things:

1.  My flight landed at D concourses. To be further away from the airport, I would have had to stay in Orlando.

2. Not only was I at D concourse, but I was also at gate 1. Basically, I was as far away from the terminal as I could get and stay in the same zip code.

3.  The Plane Train does NOT run that late at night. So, imagine me, 20 hours into my day, hearing a very attractive female voice say: "The Plan Train is inoperative. Take the moving sidewalk" and to have to listen to that message over and over and over again from D1 to the front of the airport. 

Three things were my salvation:

1. I was still alive. The day's events had taken their toll on my body and spirit, but I was still alive.

2. At some point I'll walk out into the Atlanta night sky and and my best friend will be there to pick me up.

3. This is my last domestic flight for the rest of my life. If I can't drive, I won't go. If I fly, it will be an international flight, first class on Delta.

Two other observations:

1. I encountered several people on this trip. With the exception of the bartender, I experienced everyone else as somewhat offended that I had been born and that I was in their space and that they would be happier if I disappeared.

2.  People who are offended by the requirement of wearing a mask and believe that it strips them of their constitutional rights should never travel by air.

I started out by saying that I didn't get the point of this story at the beginning. I do now: No matter what I experience, I get to interpret those experiences any way I choose. 

And maybe that's what I actually do for my clients: Help them get to the place where they can interpret their experiences in a new, healthy, happy, silly, joyous way.