Wheaton’s Way

I wasn’t going to write my column this week.

You see, I’m on vacation. Finally, after nearly three years of staying at home, best friend Lynne and I are footloose and fancy-free, enjoying a cruise followed by a few days in Florida. I messaged the news editor before I left, reminding her of my unavailability. I, Vicki Wheaton, would not be writing until I returned.

So, why am I breaking my own rule? Because I had to share our pre-vacation experiences with the world. It seems that getting back onto planes is not just like riding a bike. What with COVID paperwork and being out of practice, sorting out this trip was like prepping for an important school exam. The fact that we actually made it off the island is a minor miracle.

It all started with our lateral flow test appointments. We had to time them just right, as we had to have a negative result 24 hours before flying, and two days before our cruise. So long as we waited until a certain hour the day before our flight, the one test each would cover both requirements. Everyone in our Facebook groups was raving about the ease of the Azova online testing option, so we went with that.

We booked Lynne’s test first. She downloaded the app, and then went down a rabbit hole of choices before finding what she needed: Video monitoring a self-administered LFT. She ticked the boxes, entered her credit card details, and booked for 8:08pm. At 7:45pm she was sitting at her desk, Flowflex box in front of her, exactly parallel to the edge of the table, with her iPhone at the ready for the video call. Again, it was very much akin to prepping for a school exam, particularly with me sitting nearby to watch the proceedings, like an invigilator.

At exactly 8:08pm, she pressed the video camera symbol on the screen, and the proctor came onto the call. They asked if she had her test ready to go. She replied as though yelling over a jet engine.

“YES. I-HAVE-THE-TEST-IN-FRONT-OF-ME!” Lynne announced.

I was leaning over at the same time and added my input. “YES. SHE-HAS-IT-HERE!”

Such a volume and deliberate rhythm was really not necessary, but for some reason we both felt the weight of how official it all was, and had immediately lost the ability to speak normally.

The woman on the other end neatly ignored the eccentricities of the two loons, and expertly took Lynne through what she needed to do. Swab in the nose, into the tube, drip contents onto the strip, wait. The last instruction was for Lynne to hold the phone camera over the strip for 15 minutes. Lynne’s arm was starting to ache after about five minutes, and I was running around her bedroom trying to find something to take the pressure off.

“How about this tissue box? Or maybe this shoe?” I offered, uselessly.

By the time I’d found anything that might work, the time was up. Negative test. Good to go.

You’d think that now we’d been through it once, it would be a doddle for my turn, but my hands were shaking and I dropped the box, then the strip, then the swab (which was mercifully still in its protective sheath).

“YES, YES – I HAVE THE TEST. JUST GIVE ME A MOMENT!” I begged my proctor, as I picked everything up, pushed away a sniffing cat, and rearranged the items from the box.

The only difference this time was that I was able to balance the phone on something for the 15 minutes, so I didn’t end up with a swollen wrist. My test was negative too. Hallelujah.

We were flying out the next afternoon, and as crazy as the hour before heading to the airport usually is, this one was downright manic. There was more to worry about than deodorant, toothpaste, underwear, makeup and a mix of electronic devices; we had to have our cruise documents, and proof of vaccinations, and negative COVID tests, and proof of vaccinations, and negative COVID tests, and proof of vaccinations… I kept chanting it over and over, double-checking that I’d got screenshots on my cellphone, and then backups of that record, in case I dropped my phone at the airport and an elephant trod on it.

My sister Gabrielle came to the house to pick us up, and witnessed a couple of dervishes, grabbing cases, yelling reminders down the hall, and generally covering the same ground multiple times for no discernible reason. I was a sweaty mess as I made my way to the car – always a lovely way to start a trip. My dream is to walk into an airport looking effortlessly stylish, with a designer bag hanging off the arm, and a scarf casually arranged around my neck. Never happens. I perpetually sport a halo of frizz with a bit of mascara under my eyes, and more lipstick on teeth than lips. This time was even worse, because there was more to remember.

As soon as Lynne and I got to the Cayman Airways line and the rep came up to ask us questions, we no longer understood English.

“Hi. Welcome to Cayman Airways. May I see your vaccination certificates and negative tests, please?”

That translated to: “Banana. Do you have a banana? I need to see confirmation of your pickles,” as far as we were concerned. We had been ready all morning for this, and now the moment was upon us, we were falling apart.

We both scrambled to get our phones, and tried to scroll through our photos, but hit other apps by mistake. I was opening Google Maps, closing it, then promptly activating OpenTable and Candy Crush. Lynne couldn’t find her negative test, and was trying to get Azova to cooperate so she could show the proof.

We had become Those Passengers – the ones that should know better, yet hold up everyone else. The people we’d rolled our eyes over in the past had officially invaded our bodies.

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, finding my way back to photos and starting a video of me singing ‘Stand By Me’ in a wacky voice at full volume. I pounded at the pause icon while giggling at the idiocy of it all.

After what felt like a lifetime, we eventually got everything the patient airline staff member had requested, and were given the green light to check in and head to security.

It was relatively smooth sailing through the rest of the airport, but when we had to board the cruise the next day, there was some similar fumbling. I blame it on the fact that only 30 minutes prior, I’d had to return our car rental to the Fort Lauderdale Airport location, and completely blanked on the directions and procedure. We drove past cargo at least two times before I saw the signs we needed.

Yes, now we are relaxing on the ship, and couldn’t be happier, but wow – did we feel out of practice before we got here. Hopefully, by the time we have to return to Cayman we’ll be better with the online tests and everything else. If not, I may be writing my next Wheaton’s Way from the Motel 6 in Miami.