Don't Fly With Me

Yesterday, I had to pick up my delicious, angelic 13 year old niece from the Lubavitcher Rebbe's "Ohel" where the teen camp buses arrived from the Catskills after the first session of camp. The plan was to pick her up and then we would both fly to Miami, together. Simple. Right? That was the plan, but you know what they say about plans.
The night before, my sister informed me that my niece was very sick in camp. She had very high fever and a sore throat, but the nurse said it wasn't strep. All of us who've been to camp as teens, know that it's pretty typical. I mean, when I was in camp at that age, I wore the same backwards baseball cap and had an awful tan line straight across my forehead. Plus, I didn't have a mirror and wore this horrendous, voluminous denim skirt that my mother refused to let me wear again and was forced to incinerate, because if I just threw it out, the diseases it carried would've wiped out half the world population. I am still grateful for the lack of cell phone cameras, back in the last century, since there still exists (I hope) NO evidence of my previous fashion crimes (and I was camera shy...yeh me:)
So the plan was to pick her up. I made an appointment at a local doctor anyway, because I'm neurotic when it comes to stuff like this and of course, my sister agreed, but my niece didn't want to go. As soon as I saw how sick she was I screamed, "If you don't go to the doctor right now, you will be going to Miami over my dead body"! (a pretty convenient place for that to happen, since we were at the cemetery:)
But first the buses. In case you guys didn't know, I have a bad shoulder, so shlepping duffel bags with rocks in it, is not something the Doctor has recommended, so my beautiful, nurturing sibling said,

"Don't worry, the bus driver will help you put it in your trunk and I insist that when you go to the airport the Uber driver do the same. I'll call you an Uber and since my daughter is so sick, I've upgraded you to first class".
Did I tell you I have the best sister in the world? I do. Sweet, loving and delusional like me. It's genetic.
After three of the same buses pulled up with teenage girls teeming out of them, I finally found the right bus. I pulled up right in front of it, popped the trunk, tipped the driver 10 bucks and sweetly requested he help transfer the luggage, in my damsel in distress tone. He pocketed the money and followed me to where it was allegedly stowed, because, of course it wasn't there.
"It might be on the bus to brooklyn". He says, off-handedly I was so upset, I started to lift the heavy sides of the bus where the bags are stowed and started searching , along with a bunch of 13 year olds. Like, those mothers who lift cars to save their kids. The driver did nothing to help.
I, then, went to all the buses and finally found the one that had the bags. My niece and I dragged it out and I lifted it into my trunk, all the while, the driver I "tipped" was just watching me loading it...next!
Of course, she had strep, the Dr prescribed antibiotics and said she shouldn't fly , but she could, if she took advil and a second dose. I, still thought she should wait a few days with me and sleep, but she wanted her mommy and her bed. I understood.
The uber driver was Zeeshan. He was told to help load the luggage. Yep you guessed it! Didn't speak a word of english. I banged my head getting into his car which was as big as a ford focus. But we were going first class!! When we finally arrived at the airport terminal, there were no people outside. I ran into the delta terminal and ask some armed guards why there was no curbside check-in. My niece really wasn't doing great, but she's a sport. 
"I have a sick kid here and I'm going first class, can I get some help" I demand ( trying to be assertive) The guards pointed to what looked like a 15 year old boy who said, "Do you need a wheelchair Ma'am?"
I'd officially entered the twilight zone.When I tipped another guy to check us in, there was a problem , since it was a last minute upgrade. I thought that we'd at least be able to sit in the first class lounge so up we go to the lounge and I showed the tickets to a pretentious Alan Rickman (may he rest in peace) look-alike, who stares at me and says "Are you a Delta Premium member'? "No" "Are you on an international layover"? "No" "Well, you can't come in here". (no wonder Anne Coulter goes coach)
How many times can a girl be rejected?
The toilet and sink were both stuffed on the plane, but at least the seats were made for humans and not for anorexic mice.
We finally made it and our luggage DID arrive First.
Even the luggage gets better service than I do:)