Thoughts from Dr. Joe: Misadventures and beyond

I had just lost five bucks in one of those dispensers in baggage claim at Midway Airport in Chicago. You know what I’m talking about. The ones that spit out those tiny, feeble metal baggage carts with the broken wheels.

“You’re supposed to wait for the green light to flash before you pull the cart out,” blurted out the attendant, who was dressed like a bellhop working the front door at a hotel in Casablanca.

It was the way he said it that sent me over the edge. I gave him one of those “Bronx stares” I learned when I was 6. It was either that, or I was going to take a flamethrower to the place. He got the message and quickly used his key to retrieve a cart, which he passed to me. It was my lucky day, because only one of the three wheels was broken.

Have you ever tried to load six oversized bags that weigh a ton onto a cart that has enough space for three? Well doggone if I didn’t do it! Maybe that’s why the wheels are typically broken.

We made it to the rented car that had trunk space just big enough to fit two of the bags. I managed to cram the remainder of the luggage into the passenger area of the car. I can get water out of a rock.

“Save some room,” Kaitzer remarked. “Remember! We still have to stop at Bed Bath & Beyond.”

We had been given one of those new-fangled cars that starts by simply pushing a button. What will they think of next?

“Houston, we have a problem. The car won’t start,” I said.

“Dad!” Sabine said. “You have to step on the brake to start the car.”

It was the way she said it that tweaked me. Anyway, how was I supposed to know? I spared her the look. I was happy to get underway and head to Champaign Urbana and the University of Illinois.

It seemed the only thing remaining to complete my mission of getting Sabine to college was stopping at Bed Bath & Beyond. The horror of that experience! I can’t explain it. We purchased enough bedding to raise the mattress from 6 inches to 14 inches. Can someone tell me why we would need a bedbug cover? We even purchased a cover for the bedbug cover.

We finally made it to Sabine’s room in Weston Hall. Half the football team schlepped our bags to room 319. Then Kaitzer pulled out two cans of Lysol spray and three containers of wipes soaked in Clorox and I knew what Yogi Berra meant when he said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

I went to boot camp. I understand the insanity of cleaning the bathroom with a toothbrush and cutting the grass with scissors. However, my drill instructor Gunnery Sgt. B.A D. Mothershed had nothing on Kaitzer. Within minutes the room reeked of disinfectant. Only absolute tidiness and polish would survive her wrath. It was unnerving and possibly related to the creepiness of aseptic settings like hospitals, laboratories, and all those white sterile, futuristic sci-fi corridors. It was the dehumanization of room 319. Kaitzer had succumbed to germophobia. It was as though she thought something rotten was hiding behind the door. She even cleaned the venetian blinds — each one of them.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned; there’s a silver lining in every cloud. Sabine’s roommate Katrina Botto, also a California girl, was sheer pageantry.

Katrina’s mom, Lisa, unleashed her own packages of wipes and joined Kaitzer in their joint crusade. I felt I was being whisked away to an island prison in French Guiana. My only salvation would have been to jump out the window, but I couldn’t figure how to undo the latch.

Suddenly, all became calm and bright. Sabine paid me a most heartfelt compliment.

“Dad,” she said, “this is the first time Mom has embarrassed me more than you.”

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JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.