Good Karma At LAX

      Did you ever do something as an adult that made you really feel like a grown up? Maybe something you never imagined you could do, but then you womaned up (or manned up) and did it and afterwards you felt like throwing up your hands and shouting, Look at me! I did a thing! I'm a real grown-up!    

       I had such an experience last week on my last day in Los Angeles (see previous post, www.ailantha.com/blog/patience-pays-sometimes). 
       It was Monday morning after the family-and-friend event for which I'd come to LA. Though I'd be leaving the following day, the other guests staying at my host's house were now heading back to the various and sundry points on the map from which they'd come. Some left by car, others Ubered to the airport. One of the guests had been graciously offered a ride to LAX - as the airport is locally referred to - by a seasoned L.A. driver and had graciously accepted. 
         However at the very moment the ride to the airport was required things got a weence topsy-turvy at the house and the person who was going to give the ride was needed for a more urgent issue. As it turned out I, with my rental car (see previous post) was now the only one in the house with wheels. Hence the lot fell to me to give the traveler their ride to the airport. And the thought of doing so made my hair stand on end.
         Now, it's not that I've never driven anywhere in the Los Angeles environs. I've driven around Hollywood,  ​

​...once even tackled the notorious 405 freeway,

...and I can tool around the South Bay area like ringing a bell. ​

      But none of those places is LAX, the busiest airport in the whole USA. (Okay, second busiest after Atlanta). And the truth is, though I'll normally drive wherever is expected of me, I'm always happy to let someone else take the wheel. Because, in truth, the passenger seat is my comfort zone. But when I was asked to drive deep into the kishkes of the Los Angeles International Airport, here's what flashed into my mind as to what I'd be up against:  

        Now, let me say, I was not required  to do this LAX drop off. I could have said what I was thinking, which was OH, HECKS, NO!  And the person needing the ride would have gladly called an Uber. But, alas, as great as was my fear of facing my fear, I had even more fear of being seen as the wimp that I am. Dread of being seen as a wimp has been a motivating factor for me on more (many more) than one occasion. And this was to be another of those occasions.
           So I sucked in my breath, girded my psychological loins, whistled a happy tune and headed out with my passenger (who had no idea of the mortal fear I was also transporting) to LAX. 
          I made it into the airport.  And, perhaps because I had steeled myself for the airport being the nine fiery rings of hell all rolled into one, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared.
        Not that it was all that good, either. Initially I felt as if as if I were piece in a moving chess game, the goal of which was to switch lanes.

     I decided to keep my distance and let anybody who needed a space in my lane have it; 

 ...because it occurred to me that chances were that eventually I was going to need to change lanes, too, and you can never stock up on too  much karma.
      As it turned, out I needed  to collect on some of that karma soon enough when I needed to get myself over to the Departures lane,  

​...where once I made it over I was set, realizing that one needed only to stay in this lane, passing by the numerous terminals,

...until one arrived at one's terminal of destination, which in the case of my passenger was Terminal 4. I started singing to myself the words of Leo Bloom from the musical "The Producers:" I can do it!

       Karmic payback again arrived when I needed to pull up to the drop off curb and someone pulled out of a space - which I gave them room to pull out of - which allowed me to pull in.  I left off my passenger and was jubilant.
       Until this behemoth pulled up right in front of me.

     Another vehicle pulled in close behind me, two lanes of traffic whizzed by me, and my hopes of getting out of this place before the next millennium began slowly sinking. As previously pointed out, I am no fearless rocket girl behind the wheel.
​        But then, glory be, karma came through again, this time most spectacularly, when the car behind me - apparently manned (or womaned, I didn't notice which) by a much more virtuostic hot-rodder than myself - zipped out into the traffic fray at the same moment that a driver in the traffic lane stopped to give me enough time to back out and pull out front of them (so that they could pull into my space. Karma sometimes hands out double gifts).
         I needed karma to deliver one more time: this was when I needed to pull  left  to get into to the Century Boulevard lane.   

      And karma did deliver, though after that last lane change I figured I had zeroed out my karma account.
           By the time I made it back to the house all was calm again and I was asked how it went at the airport.
        "Oh, fine," I replied as nonchalantly as can be and feeling very brave and grown up - and sweaty - indeed.