After a job contract is up, we’re moving back home from Honolulu to Seattle. My husband is wrapping up the last bit of work in Hawaii while I fly home with our two-and-eight-ninths kids. That is, I’m a couple of days away from being thirty-six weeks pregnant, nearing the end of the time airlines and obstetricians like pregnant women flying. I’m very excited to get back home.

But it seems like everything is working against it. Part of the highway is closed to film an episode of Hawaii 5-0. The line to check in is way longer than anticipated. And there’s a line to check that we’re not exporting exotic flora. And there’s a huge line for security. At the end of this line, I accidentally leave a carry-on bag, not realizing until I’m halfway to the gate, so I have to go back. And of course, my husband was unable to get a gate escort pass, so he can’t help.

I end up running as fast as an eight-month-pregnant woman can, pushing my two-year-old in a stroller laden with carry-on bags, dragging my four-year-old, both kids crying, my glasses slipping down my nose from sweat; it’s hot in Hawaii, and our trek includes an outdoor walkway. 

Fortunately, the plane crew knows we’ve checked in and a flight attendant is holding the door for us; they close it as soon as we’re through.

Out of breath and flushed, we make it to our seats, where the flight attendant and the passenger in the last of the four-seat middle row kindly help us stow our carry-ons and fold up the stroller. I notice the passenger’s eyes get big as he sees my obvious pregnancy bump.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I still have a month to go, and my older two weren’t early. I have no labor symptoms, even after running through the airport, and I really, really want to get back to the mainland. If I start labor, I’m crossing my legs until it’s too late to turn back.” His relief is palpable!

We make it back with no new passengers arriving, and a flight attendant even helps me from our arrival gate to baggage claim where my parents meet us. I get her name and let her supervisor know.

My youngest is born three weeks later, well after my husband has rejoined us.

I’m an American on my first trip abroad. I am standing in line at customs and am developing my first gout attack. The line inches forward slowly and I can see people at the booths at the front of the line being detained almost endlessly. I finally get to the front and talk to an agent, who speaks in a thick Cockney accent.

Agent: “Purpose of your visit?”

Me: “I’m visiting friends and hope to do a little sightseeing.”

Agent: “How long will you be staying?”

Me: “Four days.”

The agent hands me back my passport.

Agent: “Cheers, mate.”

For a moment, I felt like I had just encountered the bridge-keeper from “Monty Python And The Holy Grail.” I muttered a “thanks” and scurried off. Maybe it was the person after me who got tossed into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

I’m from Brazil. The day I turned eighteen, I went on an exchange program to the US for a year. Everything went as nice as could be, and on the day I was returning home, I had a stopover in Chicago for a few hours before getting on a plane to Brazil.

I was carrying four pieces of luggage, a few purses, and lots of gifts my American friends had given me. I had already checked two bags and, by the time I was supposed to enter the boarding area, I couldn’t find my passport.

I had already taken a plane on that same day, so I was far from my temporary home and even further from my final destination.

I was a nineteen-year-old crying at a huge international airport trying to remember where I had left my passport and trying to figure out if the Brazilian embassy was that far from the airport.

That’s when an airline employee, a sixty-ish-year-old man, saw me and asked what was happening. I told him and he immediately pulled my two pieces of luggage from the airplane. After calming me down, he advised me to open all the luggage on the floor so I could find my passport. He said sometimes things can be right in front of our noses, but I’d miss it because of the anxiety and fear it could be lost.

I took a second to calm down and opened all my luggage and purses on the airport floor, all while he was by my side giving words of encouragement.

When I finally found it, he looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m really glad you found your passport. I hope you don’t take any frustration from this beautiful city, and maybe come back for a more peaceful visit in the near future.” He then took my luggage back to the airplane.

I didn’t know him and never got to ask his name, but he sure seemed to be my guardian angel by making sure I got back home in one piece. I hope he’s doing all right, and I hope I get the chance to meet him again.

I did go back to Chicago to meet many other amazing souls and visit an old high school friend who was living nearby. I have nothing but appreciation and love for that city.

This story was included in our May 2020 Inspirational Roundup.

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I was born with a host of congenital birth defects and spent the first six years of my life confined to a wheelchair. I was a patient at a nationally-known philanthropic children’s hospital and they flew me in once a year for followup procedures and the like. 

The hospital was located in Salt Lake City, which is also known for being the location of the headquarters for a certain religious movement.

After one of these yearly followups, my mother and I were at the airport to fly home. I was five years old. It had been a long week, my mother was exhausted, and I was being a handful. So, finally, my mother wheeled me to the window and told me to watch for when our plane came in in an effort to get me to quiet down.

Everyone else at our gate was a group of religious missionaries reading their holy books, so the entire gate was pretty quiet.

Soon, I saw the plane taxi into our gate and I called out to my mother, “MOM! MOM! THE PLANE IS HERE! AND BOY, IS IT A BIG MOTHERF*****!”

The only sound that could be heard after that was the sound of the aforementioned holy books slamming shut.

My mother wished the earth would just open up and swallow her right then. She walked over, grabbed my chair, and took me right into the bathroom where my rear was warmed soundly. Afterward, she asked where I’d heard that word and I told her that some of my older cousins and their friends use that word all the time. Their father got quite an earful from my mother later.

Fast forward to a year later. We arrived at the airport to go back to the hospital and my mother said, “Sweetie, do you remember this place?”

I looked up at her with huge eyes and responded, “Yeah! This is the place where you can’t say no bad words!”

My mother just about lost it.

I am flying out to Germany to visit a friend. I try a bit of shopping in the duty-free shop before heading to my terminal and see a watch I like, but there isn’t a price.

Me: “Excuse me, how much is this watch?”

Worker: “It’s duty-free, so it’s cheaper!”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t know how much it is.”

Worker: *Opening the case* “You won’t find it this cheap anywhere else.”

Me: “I know, but how much is it?”

Worker: *Walking to the register* “Come with me and I’ll let you try it on. It’s cheaper!”

I stand staring at her.

Worker: “Is there a problem?”

Me: “Yes, I don’t know how much it is.”

Worker: “It doesn’t matter. It’s cheaper!”

I give up and leave. Five months later, I am at the same airport. I check the shop again and the watch is still there. There is a price tag on it this time and I decide I want it. I speak to the same woman again.

Me: “I’d like to buy this watch?”

Worker: “No, you can’t afford that.”

She rushed to the case, yanked it open, ripped the watch out, and ran away from me.