Wheaton’s Way

To those who read my column last week about returning to the joys of international travel, I’d like to revise that subhead to add ‘– Part One’.

If you haven’t already basked in that riveting piece of journalism, I’ll bring you quickly up to speed. Best friend Lynne and I just took our first trip off the island since COVID came on the scene.

Our vacation itinerary started with an overnight stay in Miami, a five-night cruise on Celebrity EDGE, and then a long weekend back in Miami before returning to Cayman. The voyage was fantastic. I know not everyone is a fan of cruising, and some might think we were mad to go on a ship in these pandemic times, but we loved it and there was sanitiser at every turn with all the staff wearing masks. Really, the only way we were negatively impacted by the virus was that some of the servers had to quarantine until they were cleared, which meant delays getting a martini. In some ways, that was doing me a favour. An all-inclusive drinks package inspires a dangerous desire to justify its cost.

We disembarked on Friday, 22 April, and drove a rental car to the JW Marriott Marquis on Biscayne Blvd Way, where we were spending the rest of our time off the island. Our previous overnight stay was at the InterContinental Miami, also located in downtown. Between the two resorts, I gathered that everyone was getting married but us. There was a constant stream of bejewelled and bedazzled outfits going through the lobbies, entering the lifts, and gathering outdoors by valet. When Lynne and I pulled up in our Chevy Equinox – while trying not to hit a bright orange Lamborghini in the process – and alighted the vehicle in our jeans, T-shirts and Skechers, we looked like we’d won a holiday gift certificate sweepstakes.

We loved that hotel. Our room was large, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city and then the water. I had to appreciate the view from a metre-or-so back, as we were 32 floors up. Lynne was thrilled that we were a stone’s throw from Whole Foods. I mean, was this downtown Miami or heaven?

We went out for some meals, and saw a movie, but of course, at some point, we had to visit that most American of institutions: The Mall. We followed the well-worn path to Dadeland Mall in Kendall, definitely a favourite of Caymanian travellers back in the day. It housed the majority of shops we needed, plus Dadeland Station on US1 was close by, home to Target; Bed, Bath and Beyond; and Michael’s.

As it was a Saturday, the mall parking lot was packed, so we went with valet. First stop inside was Macy’s. I’ve always felt that this department store gets me and Lynne, because the women’s sizes (that’s me) and petites (thazz Lynne) are on the same floor.

From the beginning, we sensed a different atmosphere as we entered the premises. We couldn’t find any staff members. No asking if they could start a room for us or if we needed help. In fact, half of the fitting rooms were closed. Any assistants we did see were stuck behind cash registers, and no one was monitoring the changing areas. We would have possibly expected this on a weekday, but not a weekend. The store was busy with customers, just anyone wearing a name tag seemed to be an endangered species.

I picked up some jeans, the main item of clothing I badly needed, and only lucked out with a fitting room stall because another shopper told me the lock didn’t properly work on it. Fine by me. The key was to lean up against the door and yell “Si! Occupado!” to anyone who inquired.

After that, I might ordinarily have wandered around other clothes racks to see what I could find, but this time I demurred. I couldn’t be bothered to convey a heavy armful of items everywhere, looking in vain for another open stall.

I left Macy’s with jeans and six pairs of Jockey underwear. All a growing girl needs.

The next stop was the Apple store. I just had to purchase a new Apple Watch after dropping my previous one on its face. This place was the complete opposite of Macy’s, with an embarrassment of staff running around like ants on a picnic blanket. I found a group of blue-shirted, iPad-wielding millennials huddled together and approached.

“Hi, I’d like to buy an Apple Watch, please?” I said, to whom I perceived to be their leader.

“Yes, of course – what time is your appointment?” he replied.

“No, no,” I smiled, “I want to buy a watch – it’s not a service request.”

“Yes, that’s by appointment,” he said, smiling happily through the clarification.

Well, not that I don’t understand English, but huh? I have to say, I was miffed. I tried to explain that I was a tourist and had limited time to get my shopping done, but I kept getting the Stepford smile and the repeated message that making appointments was a super awesome way to enjoy personalised service. Would ma’am like an appointment 45 minutes from now?

“Yes,” I grumbled, and made my way past the plant pot trees and blanched wood tables to the exit.

Fine. I would use this time to go to the Louis Vuitton shop within Saks Fifth Avenue. Before you start thinking, “Ooooo… look at you, Miss Thang,” let me be clear that it was to enquire after their candles which, although much pricier than Glade, are in a whole lower realm compared to their handbags.

I got to the door, only to find a stainless steel cable across the entrance with a slender young lady sporting a perfect porcelain-veneer smile on the other side.

“Hi, can I get your name please?” she dazzled.

Ummm… that’s Vicki Wheaton… ,” I murmured.

“Okay, dear (ugh), if you’d like to come around and just wait here, it’ll be five-to-10 minutes,” she said, gesturing for me to wait behind their elegant version of the velvet rope.

Holy cow. Suddenly I was back to being that uncool woman trying to get into a nightclub, being held back by a bouncer, while supermodels effortlessly floated past me to be given priority.

“Have you got candles?” I asked frostily. Turned out, they didn’t, and so I threw my nose in the air, adjusted my hair bun, clicked my Skechers together, and flounced out of there… or tried to, but it was the wrong way.

“This way, dear (double-ugh),” she indicated. Tartar sauce.

After that, I went back to Apple, got my watch, and Lynne and I walked to the valet stand where harassed attendants were arguing with an owner of a Cadillac Escalade. I was so over this mall experience.

We didn’t do much shopping after that, and on Monday morning, we prepared to head back to Miami International Airport and thence, home.

We got down to the hotel valet with plenty of time, but no car. And why were the roads so empty? Well, they had seen fit to open the Brickell Ave Drawbridge and that meant no traffic was going anywhere.

It took us 25 minutes to get our vehicle, and now we were in trouble with 30 minutes before the Cayman Airways check-in desk closed.

As I pelted along the Dolphin Expressway, Lynne and I agreed that I would drop her at Departures with all the luggage and she would get a porter. I’d return the rental car and get back quickly, unfettered by bags.

The plan went wrong from the start. There was no porter. We rented a cart, and piled the cases so high, you couldn’t see Lynne behind them. I had to take the carry-on bags with me, as she only had two hands. I sent her in the direction of the doors, and jumped back into the SUV.

Off I drove, and as I pulled into Thrifty, Lynne called me. I had eight minutes to get to the desk.

I basically threw the keys at the attendant, grabbed the carry-ons, and ran to the lift in the car rental centre. I then bolted out of the lift to the monorail, where a waiting gentleman stared at this wheezing tomato.

“You… okay?” he ventured.

“I… have… to… get… to… my… flight… ,” I gasped.

The train arrived, in I got, calling Lynne at the same time to let her know I was on my way.

The cruellest cut of all? The people mover at the other monorail station was broken. So near, and yet so far. I stumbled along the carpet, dragging the bags as I went, then carried them down two flights of stairs, as anyone familiar with MIA knows that those lifts above Concourse F are so slow, they’re practically stationary.

With my last breaths at the bottom, I shouted, “LYNNE! LYNNE! I’M HERE!!”

We ran, teary-eyed, towards each other, like the closing shot of ‘Shawshank Redemption’. Cue the slow motion.

“It’s okay, you made it,” said the kind Cayman Airways rep. It was 10:03am. You’d better believe AA wouldn’t have let me check in.

Between the desk and boarding, I managed to get my blood pressure back to normal. The rest of the journey was mercifully uneventful.

Yes, we had a wonderful vacation – admittedly with the odd challenge – but it was nice to get home. And hey, the cats were happy to see us. That’s the great thing about pets – you don’t need an appointment to see them.