The tale of Cruising 101, part B

The road to sipping mai tai’s on the beach is fraught with danger and excitement.

Continuing our Caribbean cruise story from last month. Our flight arrived at the Orlando airport two hours late. Unfortunately, our pre-arranged shuttle had been waiting, so we needed to hurry as fast as we could. Thus, there was a mad dash to get to the baggage claim area.

All of this was made more complicated by the fact that I needed my supped-up and bedazzled mobility scooter, Queerteeny, to get around.

Amazingly, due to Queerteeny’s faster-than-a-speeding turtle hyper-drag drive and my beehive wig being specially designed to produce very little wind resistance, I was quickly able to maneuver Queerteeny right up to the side of the baggage carousel as smoothly as if driving Queertanic my beloved land yacht of a car up to a McDonald’s drive-in window, before the rest of the group, and retrieve my exceedingly large suitcase. Happily, it was a newer suitcase with wheels, so that I could drive Queerteeny with my right hand and hold onto my huge, oversized luggage with my left. That worked out well until I needed to get into an elevator to take me to ground level to meet the shuttle bus.

Of course, the rest of the group managed to sachet easily and stylishly to the escalator. Some of them even performed some queen-approved waves to the adoring public. The last time I tried that, I happened to be wearing a golden caftan, and I was horrified that several onlookers mistook me for Trump on his golden escalator. One even tried to give me one of those red MAGA hats. EEWWWWW!

This time however, riding on Queerteeny, I needed to ride in an elevator. As the rest of our party sank out of my sight down the moving stairs, and since I didn’t know where to go, I was panicked to try and find the elevator. Down the concourse and around the corner I finally found it. Heaving a great sigh of relief, I sped Queerteeny into the elevator with such gusto that I slammed into the back wall of the elevator, perhaps becoming slightly concussed in the process.

Upon arriving at the ground floor, I shoved my humongous suitcase out of the elevator first and then proceeded to drive Queerteeny out, but the doors closed on me before I could get all the way out. The door kept opening and closing on me so quickly that I couldn’t escape. I felt as if I was in Godzilla’s mouth and was being chewed with gusto. Several foul words may have escaped my lipstick at this point. Eventually, I grabbed the doors and tried to force them open like Hercules. Alas, the inside door opened, but the outside door stayed closed. Time to abort and eject the warp core/beehive wig. Finally, after some fancy gymnastics and breaking three of my Lee Press-On Nails in the process, I was able to back into the elevator car again and pushed the open-door button. I ended up riding the elevator back up two floors and then returning. Thankfully, my luggage was still there, however it was beginning to be scrutinized by security as being an unattended bag left in the airport. After batting my eyelashes and showing a little bit of ankle, the security guys let me take my suitcase and leave.

After I had finally escaped the elevator doors of death, I could not see anyone from our group. Panic set in. I feared that I would have to stay and live in the Orlando airport and write a book called “Lost and Alone in Orlando.” But I did spy with my little mascara-laden eye if I squinted hard and looked between my eyelashes, a small sign pointing to the shuttle pick-up area. In my anxiety and fear of losing the group, I was speeding along the concourse, and Queerteeny happened to graze a baby stroller and knock a grandma’s cane out of her hand. I sped around the corner, and lo and behold, there everyone was, loading their luggage into the shuttle van.

Since gay boys don’t travel lightly, due to the many costume changes needed each day, it was going to be very difficult to get all the luggage into the van. Thus began the biggest game of Tetris I’ve ever witnessed. After much grunting, a couple of swear words, and unloading and reloading at least three times, we got it all in and started down the road.

I was ever-so-grateful because I was beginning to fear that I might need to take up permanent residence with Mickey and Minny at Disney World. Although I guess it wouldn’t be that bad; I could always swap makeup and fashion tips with Ursula from “The Little Mermaid.”

Stay tuned next month for the boarding of the ship…

This story leaves us with several important questions:

1.     How many times would Queerteeny tumble if she tried to ride the escalator?

2.    Will Chuck-A-Rama ever install a drive-up window so I don’t have to walk in?

3.    Should I install bumper pads on Queerteeny for bouncing off of elevator walls?

4.    Should I also install a ‘cow catcher’ on the front of Queerteeny to sweep annoying small children and slow old ladies out of my way?

5.    The elevator doors of death made me feel like I was Godzilla’s lunch, so I wonder if that is how the roast beef and turkey at Chuck-A-Rama feel when they see me coming.

6.    Does airport security conduct cavity searches?

7.    How do I make a reservation for that?

8.    If I began living at Disney World, would that make me the newest Disney Princess?

These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.