In hindsight, her sense of adventure became all gummed up after this airport hassle

I have recently returned from two non-vacation trips. On the first one, I sat on pre-chewed gum that wasn’t mine. On the second journey, the small moving van we reserved for our son’s out-of-state relocation temporarily blossomed into a large clunky box truck.

These situations are reminders that we must mentally buckle up before venturing anywhere. Dysfunction and on-the-fly problem-solving are always on the itinerary.

At this moment I dream of taking a long break from seeing a littered airline gate or an unfamiliar tangle of spaghetti highway overpasses. It seems every time I leave my area code, there’s a glitch from the size of gum ball to a seven-ton truck. Forget “wanderlust.” Wander-loathe is creeping to my fingertips. My husband and I are due for a real vacation that we have not yet planned. Right now, I can’t bring myself to type the words “Trip Advisor.”

It’s crazy that what finally put me over the edge was not the many cancellations and delays and feral coughers I’ve encountered these past several years. It was that bright blue glob of used chewing gum. A glob that I unwittingly sat on somewhere along the rushed adventure of tying my shoes post-TSA, sitting at two different gates, then flopping into two different airplane seats.

I just can’t say this enough: I sat on some slob’s chewed up gum. It was the color of tropical azure waters, a hue that brilliantly contrasted with my dull gray jeans. Yet not one person in the crowded airline terminals told me about my “Extra” rear end accessory. Once I discovered this disgusting air travel barnacle at home, I vaguely recalled the peripheral sensation of seated people nudging each other, and maybe snickering as I walked by. The betrayal.

I wondered who on earth would spit out sticky chewing gum on a surface where people sit. I did not camp out on a terminal floor once during that connecting flight trip, which I’ve done before, gum-free, twice. I did not lean on a trash can or fall down an escalator. I habitually scan my seats before claiming them, so it was a bit of a mystery. I can only conclude that maybe on one of the flights, a person in the row behind me dropped the gum as they were ducking under the luggage compartment right when I was sliding into seat 9A.

The worst part, though, was realizing a stranger’s saliva was marbled in the gum that had been attached to the back of my pants. And for how many hours? That particular glob had some staying power. My alter ego, “Germ Cop,” was exquisitely unhappy. It took rubber gloves, safety goggles, disinfecting wipes, a half can of Goof Off and finally an extra hot laundry cycle to salvage my jeans. Travel is not for the weak.

As for the moving van rental, we learned on loading day the only vehicle available at our designated pickup location was way bigger than we needed to navigate on crowded, high speed interstates. This, despite calling the “logistics” person days before to verify we would get what was on our contract. “Yep, it’ll be there at 8 a.m.” It wasn’t.

We ended up going downtown and felt very lucky to procure the correct van, even though no rental location near or far had the moving blankets we reserved. Truck loading day had already been delayed by hours. There was no time to hunt for the official blankets to protect the furniture.

We ended up wrapping all exposed wood in old window drapes I had put aside for the Goodwill donation pile. How bizarre that a Scarlett O’Hara technique worked, only because our rental company didn’t give a damn.

The universe sent me aggravating surprises. I fought back with Goof Off and old curtain panels. These last two trippy trips leave me searching for the courage to go on an actual vacation. It’s just difficult to shake off the wander-loathe.

I guess tomorrow is another day.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com.