This morning, I went to pick mum up from the airport as she was flying in from overseas but when I actually got there, she was nowhere to be seen so I circled the pick up/drop off area a few more times to try and scout her out before deciding to just park the car for a bit before checking again. This routine went on for about half an hour until my sister started texting me, concerned when I told her that mum still hadn’t come out yet.

At first, she suggested that mum’s flight might’ve been delayed but when she checked online; the flight was on time and had safely landed. Next, she thought I might’ve gotten the dates wrong but that couldn’t be right because mum had told me that she’d boarded the night before. Afterwards, she said that security might be taking a while to get through everyone but come on; 45 minutes? Mum’s not going to be that illegal.

After over an hour of constantly circling the pick up/drop off area (and probably making security a little suspicious at the amount of times my car went past), my sister suggested just going into the actual airport and looking for her. I was completely fine with this until I was trying to figure out the airport’s layout in my head to know where to walk to and 3, 2, 1… YOU FREAKING IDIOT.

Now, remember in the very first sentence when I said that mum was flying in from overseas (or are you just about to look again)?

This particular airport has two completely separate terminals; domestic and international. Whenever I’m picking dad up from the airport (which is almost every time) I always pick him up from the domestic terminal because, while he’s coming back from an overseas country, he always has a layover at another airport in our country so he goes through the domestic terminal. Here’s the thing though; my mind likes to simplify things so instead of being smart and thinking of his flight back as overseas → layover in our country → our airport it’s overseas → our airport. I always forget about the layover for some reason. Since mum was coming in from an overseas country too, I connected those two bits of “information” together and thought to just pick her up from the same place as dad in my I-woke-up-at-4:30am-state-of-a-haze.

I asked my sister if the domestic and international terminals were connected (because I wasn’t entirely sure where to walk to) and that’s when she called to face palm on my behalf and tell me that I was in the wrong freaking terminal this whole freaking time. For over an hour, mum was patiently waiting for me at the international terminal; the right place, while I was trying to scout her out over at the domestic terminal; the wrong place. I drove over to the international terminal, found a parking spot, went inside and lo and behold; our long lost muuuumm (but not until after I’d walked straight past her in my panic of looking for her; it takes a special kind of skill to get onto this level of oblivious).

All you had to do today was pick your mum up from the airport. You had one job, Xiva. ONE. JOB.


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