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Hit another milestone today: received my “Revalidation of Advance Notification of Layoff.” By law, this must be delivered to the surplused – “displaced” – worker fourteen days before his last day as an “active” employee. What this really means is that, if the company does nothing at all, I am out the door in two weeks. However, the company can, in fact, deliver an extension anytime up to the eleventh hour. So, I am still between the devil and the deep blue sea for another 15 days, 8 hours and 30 minutes (give or take). Put another way, I am expected to be moving toward the door for the next two weeks and then, at the last minute, I could be extended (i.e., retained as an “active” employee). Pretty much a “it’s almost definite,” or “definite maybe, possibly.” Even being laid-off is not in the same category as death and taxes.

The daughter, and her little, precious angel have left. Both my wife and I cried. But, in bed that night, I told my wife that I didn’t think our daughter’s “new life” was going to last long. I would have said that anyway, but after hearing how things went at the airport earlier that day….

The daughter got almost everything packed up. Almost. ‘Course, she had the safety-valve of saying, “Mom, could you mail this stuff to me?” And, “Mom, could we drive to Tacoma to pick up the son’s birth certificate?” Sure, a thousand things to do that day (the wife is 24 weeks pregnant. With twins), and instead of having the birth certificate mailed to the address on record (where we live), and thus saving a two hour drive (round trip) to the department of vital statistics, the daughter chose the option to pick it up. On the way to the airport? Did I mention that the grandson is two months and two weeks old? And the grandson’s mother still doesn’t have a birth certificate? Really? How do people live like that?

The wife drove the daughter and the grandson to the airport, where Meathead was waiting. Now, I can appreciate (more than most) how confusing some airports can be – I have lost count (literally) of the number of airports I have transited in my life. But some, like Seattle’s “Seatac” airport I could navigate blindfolded in the dark. Even my wife knows how to get around. The daughter, who has been thru that airport on the order of a dozen times, got lost. Following the wife.

Seatac has a parking garage that is connected to the terminal building by a number of “sky bridges” (what other kind of bridge is there?). You get out of your car, get on an elevator (it doesn’t matter what floor you have parked on, it doesn’t matter what your airline is), go to the fourth floor, and via any sky bridge, cross the access road to the main terminal building. At that point, you have to choose to go upstairs to ticketing (departures) or downstairs to baggage (arrivals). My wife goes to the elevator because she is pushing the stroller, and our daughter takes the escalator downstairs. Meathead follows. Fortunately, wife is looking at daughter and gets daughter’s attention before visual is lost.

They rendezvous at the United ticket counter, where there are self-service kiosks.   I have used them, and if you are computer savvy, they’re pretty slick. How a 20-something can’t figure it out is beyond me; but, there’s the daughter, poking at the touch screen…and poking…and poking. Wife flags down an attendant and whispers, “They need help.” So, with expert help, daughter is well on her way to checking in, and waves off attendant. Poke…poke…poke. Finally, done.

Meathead just stands there with his thumb up his ass. So, he’s not a world traveler. I get it. But, is he the least bit interested in helping? Or learning? Daughter and boyfriend make Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels look like Einstein and Oppenheimer.

Oh wait, there’s bags to check. Poke…poke…poke. Attendant returns. More hand-holding. More poking.

There’s a plane change in Chicago. No offense to Chicago, but that airport is idiot proof if you’re just transiting. However, daughter and boyfriend have only one hour…. Did get a phone call (surprise) that the intrepid troupe did arrive in D.C. (another surprise).

BTW, I have to mail the application form for a copy of the birth certificate to the government. And write a check for twenty bucks. Any bets on whether or not the grandson gets his vaccinations? You know, the ones due at six weeks.