(no subject)
It's time to revive this thing.
Home happened on the 16th although it doesn't feel like I even left. It was a smooth transition back into American life, but physically getting to this point wasn't as easy. The skim version is that baggage policies vary from airport to airport, country to country. In Italy, Alitalia had no beef about me bringing on a small suitcase and a tote. They basically encouraged it. They encourage anything that will result in them having to do less work. The folk in London were not as lax about quantity, however.
The extended version is that after we got off the plane, we had to go through security again before we could board our connecting flight. It was there that I learned that only one carry-on bag was permitted on London flights. When others heard about this, they didn't fret. They simply consolidated everything into one bag. I, of course did not have this option because traveling lightly has never been my forte.
My carry-on's were a result of superfluous consumerism and since my checked baggage could only hold so much, I stuffed my carry-on suitcase with jeans, shoes, and textbooks: all the in-flight essentials. It barely zipped, but at the time, it still served as a valuable team player in the balancing act. Likewise, my goddamn purse which is and was of course the size of a small coffin, was at maximum capacity featuring journals, books, various electronics, a melon size pillow shaped like a fat duck, and other things that were far from necessary for flight. As apparent, consolidation was not an option so I was instructed by the security guard to go down to the American Airlines counter and check my bag. So, I followed directions. He made it seem like it was a 2 minute walk but as I later found out, Heathrow could qualify for its own zip code and to walk from from our gate to check-in is a good thirty minutes, excluding the time it would take the obligatory trip through passport control.
It was the first time I ran since August. Sweat cascaded my limbs and left evidence of rush. Children were rendered helpless as nothing could stop me from knocking them over. But in hindsight, I would probably knock them over regardless of emergencies. By the time I found the counter, it was 3:50 and I had been in transit for a half hour. Irregardless of duration, I was there. What wasn't there was good news. In London, you have to check-in an hour before your flight. My flight was in 55 minutes. No flight for me. I cried like a little bitch and got passed around between agents. My last chance was a 6:30 flight to JFK but the seats were all full at the time, so standby was going to have to suffice. If that didn't work, I was sleeping in the airport. Sono stata una FIGA.
Since September, I've been sleeping in international airports alone but with the reality of returning home just at my fingertips, I was not metally equipped for disaster. For the 90 minutes that I was in the security line, I alternated between bawling and hyperventilating whilst reiterating the situation to those at home. In my defense, I had pancakes scheduled for the following morning and I hadn't had pancakes since Paris, so you know, I had to get to the states in time for Sunday brunch.
Stand-by actually worked out though. They got me on the plane sans problem. The boner kill was that I still had a 10:40 flight from JFK to Boston which I was so worried about missing, that I could not sleep an ounce during the eight hour flight. So, I sat there and listened to my v1.0 iPod. I couldn't read because I was too tired and there were no movies to watch because AA has some sort of notion that their passengers are only interested in horses and magic. All the while, I smelled like absolute crap. The deoderant was packed away and my sweat had permeated through my dress conjuring up an odor to be undesired. I was so paranoid about being that girl so I threw a blanket across my body to trap the grossness. I don't think it worked. I think I'm the grossest person alive.
9:45, we're at JFK. I booked it through customs, my luggage was magically waiting for me in the Land of Unloved Luggage pile, an AA connecting flight desk was situated twenty feet away, and the idea of a higher being no longer seemed so unlikely. What was not so convenient was the placement of my gate which required yet another sprint across the airport. More sweat and grossness, but I somehow made it with 60 seconds to spare.
Boston finally happened at 11:30pm that night. Keep in mind I left my apartment at 3:45 am, European time which I think translates to 26 hours of traveling time. By that point, I didn't even care that they lost my luggage because Nicole was waiting for me at Logan with 2 Diet Rockstars and the notion that airplanes were past tense.
Home happened on the 16th although it doesn't feel like I even left. It was a smooth transition back into American life, but physically getting to this point wasn't as easy. The skim version is that baggage policies vary from airport to airport, country to country. In Italy, Alitalia had no beef about me bringing on a small suitcase and a tote. They basically encouraged it. They encourage anything that will result in them having to do less work. The folk in London were not as lax about quantity, however.
The extended version is that after we got off the plane, we had to go through security again before we could board our connecting flight. It was there that I learned that only one carry-on bag was permitted on London flights. When others heard about this, they didn't fret. They simply consolidated everything into one bag. I, of course did not have this option because traveling lightly has never been my forte.
My carry-on's were a result of superfluous consumerism and since my checked baggage could only hold so much, I stuffed my carry-on suitcase with jeans, shoes, and textbooks: all the in-flight essentials. It barely zipped, but at the time, it still served as a valuable team player in the balancing act. Likewise, my goddamn purse which is and was of course the size of a small coffin, was at maximum capacity featuring journals, books, various electronics, a melon size pillow shaped like a fat duck, and other things that were far from necessary for flight. As apparent, consolidation was not an option so I was instructed by the security guard to go down to the American Airlines counter and check my bag. So, I followed directions. He made it seem like it was a 2 minute walk but as I later found out, Heathrow could qualify for its own zip code and to walk from from our gate to check-in is a good thirty minutes, excluding the time it would take the obligatory trip through passport control.
It was the first time I ran since August. Sweat cascaded my limbs and left evidence of rush. Children were rendered helpless as nothing could stop me from knocking them over. But in hindsight, I would probably knock them over regardless of emergencies. By the time I found the counter, it was 3:50 and I had been in transit for a half hour. Irregardless of duration, I was there. What wasn't there was good news. In London, you have to check-in an hour before your flight. My flight was in 55 minutes. No flight for me. I cried like a little bitch and got passed around between agents. My last chance was a 6:30 flight to JFK but the seats were all full at the time, so standby was going to have to suffice. If that didn't work, I was sleeping in the airport. Sono stata una FIGA.
Since September, I've been sleeping in international airports alone but with the reality of returning home just at my fingertips, I was not metally equipped for disaster. For the 90 minutes that I was in the security line, I alternated between bawling and hyperventilating whilst reiterating the situation to those at home. In my defense, I had pancakes scheduled for the following morning and I hadn't had pancakes since Paris, so you know, I had to get to the states in time for Sunday brunch.
Stand-by actually worked out though. They got me on the plane sans problem. The boner kill was that I still had a 10:40 flight from JFK to Boston which I was so worried about missing, that I could not sleep an ounce during the eight hour flight. So, I sat there and listened to my v1.0 iPod. I couldn't read because I was too tired and there were no movies to watch because AA has some sort of notion that their passengers are only interested in horses and magic. All the while, I smelled like absolute crap. The deoderant was packed away and my sweat had permeated through my dress conjuring up an odor to be undesired. I was so paranoid about being that girl so I threw a blanket across my body to trap the grossness. I don't think it worked. I think I'm the grossest person alive.
9:45, we're at JFK. I booked it through customs, my luggage was magically waiting for me in the Land of Unloved Luggage pile, an AA connecting flight desk was situated twenty feet away, and the idea of a higher being no longer seemed so unlikely. What was not so convenient was the placement of my gate which required yet another sprint across the airport. More sweat and grossness, but I somehow made it with 60 seconds to spare.
Boston finally happened at 11:30pm that night. Keep in mind I left my apartment at 3:45 am, European time which I think translates to 26 hours of traveling time. By that point, I didn't even care that they lost my luggage because Nicole was waiting for me at Logan with 2 Diet Rockstars and the notion that airplanes were past tense.