My dad was a little cautious when he asked me if I'd be able to do two LAX airport pickups, but I was happy to oblige, because I would certainly do it for a friend, so for family I'd happily go out of my way.
There was another wrinkle, though. I would have to get to LAX on Sunday morning, pick up my grandma without getting pulled over for no front license place (my dad got pulled over three times for it on his last trip to LAX), make my way to the train station, and help her get a ticket on the right train. I don't know the LA area, LAX is confusing and problematic for me to drive in, and the train station is awkwardly located at the end of a private street that doesn't appear on any maps.
I got on Google maps, and followed the route my dad gave me to where I needed to be. He recommended I wait at a nearby bus/metro station, and have grandma get on the free shuttle to the station (something he had had her do before). I found and figured out how to get to the station. I Google wandered around where the train station should be, and then switched to satellite view, and the private road popped into view, plain as day. I fucking love Google maps.
The next morning I was waiting at the bus station when grandma called.
Grandma: Ok, I'm ready to be picked up. I think I'm at terminal 2.
Good thing I bothered to check that information, because she's actually at terminal B
Me: I was going to have you get on the free shuttle to the station, and take you from here.
GM: What do you mean?
Me: The shuttle to the green line. Dad lead me to believe you've done this before.
GM: Well... I have... But I... Your father had some books that he had to put in my bag, and I'm not comfortable getting it up the steps to the bus.
She's 80 years old, and she's my grandma. She wants me to pick her up, so I gotta pick her up. Ah, what the hell? She's forgotten more than I know right now, so she's earned whatever I can do for her. Who am I to deny her?
Me: Sure, I'll be there in a bit.
GM: Ok, thank you.
Bugger. Oh well. I'll handle the front license place ticket somehow.
As I approached LAX, I use my secret technique to avoid police attention; be dumb. I've always been a very attentive driver, and have always worried that I was going to be pulled over, despite the fact that the only thing I do is speed. For years I would get pulled over constantly, questioned, and released with a ticket. A while back, my dad (LA Sheriff) told me about a woman who always got pulled over, and opined that she always got pulled over because she always expected to get pulled over. He figured that people who expect to have encounters with the police put out a "vibe" of some kind, and it's that vibe that gives police the gut feeling they attribute to finding law breakers. I realized that for every one person the police pull over, hundreds pass by without a care in the world. These are the same people who are busy listening to music, talking on their phone, or futzing with their hair. They are not aware of their surroundings. They are dumb. So I decided to try this theory out, and whenever I saw a cop, I regarded them as I would any other car, and then return to adjusting the radio, or pretending to sing along to the song on the radio. I haven't been pulled over since.
I only mention this, because this was the ultimate test. There have been three times I've driven my dad to LAX in his front-license-plate-free car, and every time we were stopped between two and FIVE times each trip. It got to the point that we'd see the motorcycle cop perk up, then just hold up the ticket, and he'd realize we'd already been ticketed, and let us by. It was almost a joke. I was certain I'd get a ticket, but forced myself to put it out of my mind, and focused on being just another lost person, somehow confused by LAXs big easy-to-read signs. I went through a vehicle stop point, and I did three laps before I spotted her and left. No ticket.
Me: Good to see you! How was your flight?
GM: Too long. 11 hours.
Me: Yeesh...
GM: Hey, could I bribe you to take me all the way to Carlsbad?
I was eager to take some new shooters to the range, and had planned on taking them right after. I was also going to give someone a ride. Carlsbad would put me out of the way to the tune of a little under two hours. Two hours of solid driving, and talking to my grandma. I don't frequently talk to her, and really didn't expect us to have much to talk about. I expected the ride would be uncomfortable. And yet I answered before I could think.
Me: My pleasure.
I expected her to ask me to lunch, and already had an excuse prepared, but I just kept thinking about the conclusion I came to when she asked me to pick her up instead. "She's earned whatever I can do for her." I wasn't ready to decline, even if I could have easily gotten away with it. It's not like what I was going to do was incredibly important, or couldn't wait.
So we drove down to Carlsbad, and talked the entire way. About her trip, about my professional life, about squeaky wheels, and about the family. There were a few lulls, but nothing uncomfortable. I realized I'd never really sat down and talked with my grandma.
The time flew by, and I came away with a better relationship with my grandma. I'm glad I did it.
The drive home was fine (I like driving), and the new shooters were ready to get started right as I pulled in to my parking spot.
Total mileage on trip; 183 miles.
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