Traveling
The matchboxes in the bar at the Heathrow Crowne Plaza Hotel warn, “Danger - Fire Kills Children” with a stick figure representing an immolated child. It’s a bit more on the nose than the US version of “don’t play with matches”
I traveled sort of kind of with my father this weekend. I say sort of kind of, because we only shared one flight, and he flew in business whilst I was in economy plus. Papa likes the day flight to London when traveling so that he can adjust to the jet lag. The downside of traveling this way is that it takes freakin forever. My preference is just to get it over with in one fell swoop. Dragging your flights out over two days is torturous. You clear customs twice, check your bags twice, go through security twice, deal with other people flying constantly. Who needs it?
There are moments in your life when you are smacked in the face with the reality that you are not always a good person. That smack typically comes to me during travel. I used to date a boy with dogmatic devotion to what he perceived as the proper way to do things. A major reason why we are no longer together, it’s annoying when I find myself acting the same way. I have an ever-growing list of do’s and don’ts when getting from country A to country B
Go straight to your gate before doing anything else
Don’t leave the airport on a layover less than 24 hours
Never pack more than you can carry yourself
Children under five shouldn’t travel. They don’t enjoy it, we don’t enjoy it. Find a sitter
Don’t cut in line, we all have connecting flights
Don’t walk slow, we all have connecting flights
Don’t joke around with customs officials
Don’t sing or whistle.
I know this last one makes me a curmudgeon. Lookit, I too know what is like to jam out to your iPod. Music is an emotive experience begging for full body immersion. I’m down. I get it. You are still an annoying twatwaffel when you sing aloud. You aren’t as good as you think you are. I don’t want to listen to your off-key, out of synch rendition of Kathleen Turner Overdrive’s Greatest Hits Vol 1: A Nick Hornby Tribute. Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up.
My flights were as expected: gut wrenching fear until we clear the clouds, followed by butt numbing boredom, and then right around the time my legs atrophy, another dose of gut wrenching fear as we head back into the clouds. You would think by now I would be past the whole fear of heights thing, but it’s called an irrational fear for a reason.
This time the cab driver was blasting Debbie Gibson on the stereo. What is it with Austrian cab drivers and their shitty female pop stars? For me speaking German is like staring at a Jackson Pollack painting, after a while I abandon all hope and stop. Because I’m not that bright, I keep trying do both over and over again, thinking this time it’ll be better. Despite my crappy language skills, I got the hotel.
Once in my room I discovered that my Dr Bonner’s Magical Soap busted lose from its plastic bag during the flight. Now 50% of my stuff is cover is minty goo. I was able to rinse out most of the stuff and lay it out on the bathroom floor with no damage to anything electrical. Now I have to buy more soap, but that’s not the end of the world. I can do it in London next weekend before my flight to Freetown. Still, three days in a row with less than five hours of sleep is not how I like to roll.
Well, at least I’m here. Let the games begin.
I traveled sort of kind of with my father this weekend. I say sort of kind of, because we only shared one flight, and he flew in business whilst I was in economy plus. Papa likes the day flight to London when traveling so that he can adjust to the jet lag. The downside of traveling this way is that it takes freakin forever. My preference is just to get it over with in one fell swoop. Dragging your flights out over two days is torturous. You clear customs twice, check your bags twice, go through security twice, deal with other people flying constantly. Who needs it?
There are moments in your life when you are smacked in the face with the reality that you are not always a good person. That smack typically comes to me during travel. I used to date a boy with dogmatic devotion to what he perceived as the proper way to do things. A major reason why we are no longer together, it’s annoying when I find myself acting the same way. I have an ever-growing list of do’s and don’ts when getting from country A to country B
Go straight to your gate before doing anything else
Don’t leave the airport on a layover less than 24 hours
Never pack more than you can carry yourself
Children under five shouldn’t travel. They don’t enjoy it, we don’t enjoy it. Find a sitter
Don’t cut in line, we all have connecting flights
Don’t walk slow, we all have connecting flights
Don’t joke around with customs officials
Don’t sing or whistle.
I know this last one makes me a curmudgeon. Lookit, I too know what is like to jam out to your iPod. Music is an emotive experience begging for full body immersion. I’m down. I get it. You are still an annoying twatwaffel when you sing aloud. You aren’t as good as you think you are. I don’t want to listen to your off-key, out of synch rendition of Kathleen Turner Overdrive’s Greatest Hits Vol 1: A Nick Hornby Tribute. Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up.
My flights were as expected: gut wrenching fear until we clear the clouds, followed by butt numbing boredom, and then right around the time my legs atrophy, another dose of gut wrenching fear as we head back into the clouds. You would think by now I would be past the whole fear of heights thing, but it’s called an irrational fear for a reason.
This time the cab driver was blasting Debbie Gibson on the stereo. What is it with Austrian cab drivers and their shitty female pop stars? For me speaking German is like staring at a Jackson Pollack painting, after a while I abandon all hope and stop. Because I’m not that bright, I keep trying do both over and over again, thinking this time it’ll be better. Despite my crappy language skills, I got the hotel.
Once in my room I discovered that my Dr Bonner’s Magical Soap busted lose from its plastic bag during the flight. Now 50% of my stuff is cover is minty goo. I was able to rinse out most of the stuff and lay it out on the bathroom floor with no damage to anything electrical. Now I have to buy more soap, but that’s not the end of the world. I can do it in London next weekend before my flight to Freetown. Still, three days in a row with less than five hours of sleep is not how I like to roll.
Well, at least I’m here. Let the games begin.