So I was traveling with my daughter in New York City. She’s a high school choir teacher and her students were there to sing for a performance at Carnegie Hall. I came along because her two little girls and 1-year-old boy were there, too — my job was to take care of them when she was busy.
All went amazingly smoothly if you don’t count my succumbing to thinking two Minnie Mouses and a Statue of Liberty in Times Square were nice and so we should stop for a photo with the kids when the characters kept urging it ever so sweetly. Multiple demands for $20 later, we got away parting with just $4 and the two older ones (still) telling me how creepy that was.
On the final day, I rode separate transportation to the airport in Newark because I wasn’t part of the group tour. I also took my daughter’s big suitcase and lightweight duffle that had the baby’s clothes along with my own large piece of luggage and a rather big and heavy tote bag on top containing my laptop and various other stuff. I was extremely proud of myself for managing the airport escalator with one set of bags on the step in front of me and the other behind me. I know that’s why I had a false sense of security when I met my Waterloo on an escalator in Detroit later, in the wee hours of the morning.
No doubt it didn’t help that our flight was supposed to arrive at 10:20 pm but didn’t get in until 2, after waiting at the airport to leave since 5 pm.
Anyway, we finally get to Detroit. My daughter has the baby, thank goodness. The two girls are self-sufficient. I’ve got the stroller, in which I’ve placed the baby’s bag and my heavy tote bag. Our other suitcases were checked. Approaching the escalators, I look for an elevator nearby but see none. There is really no one in front of me — most of the choir kids are still behind me — and I think, still confident from my earlier experience: piece of cake. I can do this.
But I either forget or don’t realize the weight of what I am carrying in the stroller. I get on, and as the stairs start to unfold, I pull the front wheels up to rest the stroller on the rear wheels, tilted back. But it’s heavy and doesn’t cooperate. Next thing I know my bag bounces out and onto the escalator in front of me, as does my coat. There’s no one to grab any of it.
When I dream and am in a tight situation, I always freeze. Apparently that is because that is my modus operandi awake, too. This is all happening in a matter of seconds, of course, but as I approach the bottom I for some completely unknown reason steer the stroller sideways, as if to avoid my bag at the bottom, but obviously that isn’t going to go well if the wheels are pointed to the side when it’s time to roll off on the lower floor.
Anyway, I’m at the end of the escalator. My bag is still there and comes to a standstill. I try to get around it and end up falling. I have no idea where the stroller goes. Now the kids are starting to pile up behind me. I can’t get up because I’m surrounded by moving kids with nowhere to go. I begin to worry madly that the kids are going to be injured.
Then out of nowhere, a security guard/angel comes into the fray, grabs me from under my arms and lifts me out of the way. It’s a miracle.
Save for a small cut and some bruises, I was fine — except for my pride, of course. In retrospect, I was mainly horrified at the thought of what could have happened if the students had kept coming and I hadn’t been moved out of the way — not for me, but for the kids.
It’s since been suggested that if I’d pulled the stroller behind me, it might have gone better. I’ve also learned there was probably a red emergency stop button that would have shut down the escalator. Good to know. Not that I need to. It’ll be a long time before I get on an escalator again pulling anything at all.