So I was heading to the airport at lunchtime today to pick up my in-laws from the international terminal, on their way back from a grandson’s graduation in Hong Kong. A trip that usually takes 15-20 minutes turned into a two-hour ordeal, because a bomb threat at the airport halted all traffic. I was in the Sepulveda Blvd. tunnel for more than 30 minutes–and soon realized that there was NO way I’d be able to get home for Jake’s bus. I also realized that I didn’t have my cellphone. Shoot. Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot.
I had to take a chance.
I rolled down the passenger window, and asked the folks in the car next to me if they had a phone. The men in the front seat looked leery. The teenaged girl in the backseat asked “Why?” I explained, I just needed them to call Peter and tell him to go home and pick up Jake’s bus. “What’s the number?” She was already dialing. Then traffic shifted, and they weren’t next to me anymore.
About 30 minutes later, I caught up to the Camry again. “Did you get him?” “YES!” The girl was all smiles and thumbs up. The woman next to her waved to Nell. “Thank you! You rock!” I shouted, as traffic shifted again. Another 30 minutes passed before I got to my in-laws at Bradley terminal. They had talked to Peter, he did go home, he did get Jake off the bus, and all was well.
The girl in the green Camry saved the day. I don’t know her name, and she never knew mine: She just called Peter’s office and explained that “a woman in a van under the airport” said he should go home for the schoolbus. (It tells you something that this call from a strange teenager with a non-US accent telling him to go home struck Peter as a plausible message from me.)
Tags: Los Angeles