Terminal Turbulence: The Pre-Holiday Edition

Terminal Turbulence: The Pre-Holiday Edition

Yesterday, I was tasked with picking up some friends from the airport. I was running a bit late — which, on the day before Thanksgiving, is functionally the same as being on time. There had been a pile-up on the freeway, the kind of pile-up you see when an entire stadium empties into a parking lot after a pro-football championship game. Nothing moved. People honked at absolutely nothing. Every lane behaved like it had its own foreign policy.

I messaged the couple to explain the delay.
They were understanding.
Gracious, even.

But then there was her.

The husband’s mother.

She stepped off the escalator wearing tailored luxury and a scowl that could sour milk. A perfectly polished redhead, styled within an inch of her life, radiating the kind of Mother-in-Law Energy that makes small animals hide under furniture. The universe didn’t dare muss a single hair on her head — but it absolutely mussed her mood.

The moment she learned I hadn’t been waiting curbside an hour before their plane landed, she reacted like I’d committed a federal offense. “A proper host arrives early,” she declared, as if announcing a verdict. The wife gave me a sympathetic look — the kind women give one another when silently acknowledging that a tyrant is present.

The arrivals lane was its own special form of hell: cars stopping wherever they pleased, hazard lights blinking like distress beacons, people wandering through traffic holding emotional support lattes. It was the same chaos playing out in airports across the country yesterday — millions of people all convinced the universe should reorganize itself just for them.

When the wife reached for her suitcase, the mother-in-law intercepted. “No, dear, let him do it,” she said, in a tone usually reserved for toddlers with scissors. The wife stepped back. The husband lifted the suitcase. The mother-in-law nodded with smug approval — the Executive Director of Hidden Contempt.

In the car, she settled into the back seat like an HOA president inspecting violations. She didn’t speak much, but every breath, every hum, every pointed sigh communicated criticism. She corrected my driving with her breathing. She corrected the wife’s small talk with her eyebrows. She corrected the husband’s existence with pure disappointment.

By the time we merged onto the freeway, I’d already mapped out what today — Thanksgiving Day — would look like for this unfortunate couple. She wasn’t just a houseguest; she was a storm front. A cold, entitled weather system settling over the entire holiday.

Yesterday was just the turbulence.
Today is the crash landing.
Tomorrow, I’ll write about the wreckage.

Diagnosis

Entitlement spike, superiority complex flare-up, and punctuality fundamentalism caused by holiday travel and a lifelong inability to tolerate inconvenience.

Treatment

Boundary reinforcement, selective hearing, and a reminder that freeway pile-ups do not rearrange themselves for difficult personalities.

Moral

Some travelers bring gratitude. Others bring psychological warfare wrapped in expensive fabric.

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