Sitting on the tarmac once we landed in Florida was a totally different kind of torture. We were here. On the ground. I could feel the heat emanating outside the plane as I fidgeted in my seat. I wanted OUT! Now, open the doors...open the doors...!
Once they threw the doors open, I scurried as fast as I could to the car rental kiosk while Roc went to grab the luggage. Of course, the line to retrieve the rental car was forever and a day: families with thousands of kids, trying to negotiate for a better rate or a bigger mini-van.
C'mon, C'Mon, C'mon...
I started texting my friend from the line. We're here. How's it going? Love you!
I decided against sharing the drama as I checked the clock on my phone and tapped my feet. I thought about sharing the drama so that I could ask the line as a group about cutting to the front, but then decided to not be "that person." So I tapped, tapped, tapped my foot, and sent up a silent prayer.
We had an hour to the start of the ceremony.
I had about two people left in front of me when Roc appeared with the luggage.
"How's it going?" He was finally starting to get anxious too.
"Ugh." I groaned. I couldn't even speak actual words.
"Step UP!" The counter person hailed us forward, toward his blinking light and the next available space. I probably signed my life away---who knew?---thanked him, then grabbed the rental agreement so fast that the clerk got whiplash.
One car inspection later and we were on our way.
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