my dawgs are a barkin’-but look at how much room they have!
Halfway between totally crying and quite possibly laughing hysterically for the past 5 days, I now am 4 hours away from Frankfurt on United flight 9053.
Starting with the movers just plain not showing up on Friday to the emergency ones I had to hire not speaking a lick of English (uh-huh, how convenient), to them stuffing my storage locker without any thought of me possibly having things to add or a need for access. If I had a flatbed truck and put my storage locker on the back, you could just call me Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies. I had even drawn a diagram of what should go where in my 4x10 life.
Jethro driving!Guess illustration is also only understood in their language, my skilled talent for sketches surely couldn’t be the blame—ha ha.
Big pause, the hottest guy just walked
Big pause, the hottest guy just walked
down the aisle m e o w. Where is my lipstick? ha ha
OK, back to my story. So, my bags are heavy. I have 2 to check in, both about my height, and if I were to guess about my weight…this is my life we are talking about. They are the last things I am to remove from my apartment. This I do at about 10:45 am, flight leaves at 2:25pm. No problem, plenty of time.
No, Mr. Time has never been a friend to me, ever. I lug the bags down my two sets of stairs; push them with my feet to the trunk of the jeep I’m renting. Now, my travel outfit is a glamour “do”, my luggage is a definite “don’t”. With all my might and platform gold shoes on, I manage the first bag in. Second bag, well let’s just say I bet my asshole neighbor was peering out his window at me in hysterics…like Gargamel waiting to pounce on a poor, sweet Smurf.
I begin to have serious panic issues, look around my fogged in neighborhood, not a brawny man in sight-there never was, that’s why I’m leaving. I cruise around the block and see a construction site-phew! As soft as a helpless kitten, I politely ask two Latino men for their help. Of course, men always love a damsel in distress -they lay their tools aside and report for duty.
It was even a little heavy for the both of them; one says, “What are you doing? Moving to Mexico?”
Close. My 30 years in two and a half bags and a rectangle I rent downtown San Francisco.
On with it-thanks boys so much! Drop off the rental and have the shuttle driver help me with the bags-he’s half my size, shaking from the weight, breaking a sweat, but doesn’t want me to notice all that, of course I pretend not to. He informs me that he can’t take me all the way to the terminal; he drops off at the Air tram, where the rental car station is. Yikes, they have Smart Carts though, he adds. OK, a smart cart is the size of my big toe-what the bloody hell am I supposed to do with that? After about 5 bag roll-offs and plenty of on-lookers whispering-‘she’s probably just going to Vegas for a weekend’-I get on the tram. Of course, someone from the last exit left an unattended bag on the tram, so everyone has to vacate-and I’m the one blocking the door. Lord, whhhhyyyy????
It’s now 1:15-I have until 1:40 to check in. 1:25 I make it to the counter, trying to disguise the laptop, carry-on, and purse I have besides the two dead bodies in the bags I plan to check.
Well, I purposely flew Lufthansa because their baggage allowance weight online is 70lbs. Oh no, all airlines 50 lbs. My bags each weigh 55lbs. Pay $25 for added weight, whatever, just get me on the plane and serve me a stiff one.
The agent was so nice I landed a fabulous seat. Emergency exit. Yes! There is room for like 4 more rows, but instead my swollen, polished toes get to spread out. I read the guidelines handed to me in pure confidence and agree that I will, high heels and all, save the lives of my fellow friends on flight 9053. 3 seats total the row, the middle seat is empty, and a lovely man sits in the window seat. He buys me a red wine ($5) because I spent all my cash in the terminal and the bizitches who are serving it have the nerve to actually charge-are you kidding? Oh well.
So, that’s where I am-watched Mr. & Mrs. Smith-horrible! Brad & Angelina can have each other. Lame.
Time for me to do a lap around the cabin and look for tall, dark & handsome…fill you in later!
my new motto:
If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found. ~Author Unknown
OK, back to my story. So, my bags are heavy. I have 2 to check in, both about my height, and if I were to guess about my weight…this is my life we are talking about. They are the last things I am to remove from my apartment. This I do at about 10:45 am, flight leaves at 2:25pm. No problem, plenty of time.
No, Mr. Time has never been a friend to me, ever. I lug the bags down my two sets of stairs; push them with my feet to the trunk of the jeep I’m renting. Now, my travel outfit is a glamour “do”, my luggage is a definite “don’t”. With all my might and platform gold shoes on, I manage the first bag in. Second bag, well let’s just say I bet my asshole neighbor was peering out his window at me in hysterics…like Gargamel waiting to pounce on a poor, sweet Smurf.
I begin to have serious panic issues, look around my fogged in neighborhood, not a brawny man in sight-there never was, that’s why I’m leaving. I cruise around the block and see a construction site-phew! As soft as a helpless kitten, I politely ask two Latino men for their help. Of course, men always love a damsel in distress -they lay their tools aside and report for duty.
It was even a little heavy for the both of them; one says, “What are you doing? Moving to Mexico?”
Close. My 30 years in two and a half bags and a rectangle I rent downtown San Francisco.
On with it-thanks boys so much! Drop off the rental and have the shuttle driver help me with the bags-he’s half my size, shaking from the weight, breaking a sweat, but doesn’t want me to notice all that, of course I pretend not to. He informs me that he can’t take me all the way to the terminal; he drops off at the Air tram, where the rental car station is. Yikes, they have Smart Carts though, he adds. OK, a smart cart is the size of my big toe-what the bloody hell am I supposed to do with that? After about 5 bag roll-offs and plenty of on-lookers whispering-‘she’s probably just going to Vegas for a weekend’-I get on the tram. Of course, someone from the last exit left an unattended bag on the tram, so everyone has to vacate-and I’m the one blocking the door. Lord, whhhhyyyy????
It’s now 1:15-I have until 1:40 to check in. 1:25 I make it to the counter, trying to disguise the laptop, carry-on, and purse I have besides the two dead bodies in the bags I plan to check.
Well, I purposely flew Lufthansa because their baggage allowance weight online is 70lbs. Oh no, all airlines 50 lbs. My bags each weigh 55lbs. Pay $25 for added weight, whatever, just get me on the plane and serve me a stiff one.
The agent was so nice I landed a fabulous seat. Emergency exit. Yes! There is room for like 4 more rows, but instead my swollen, polished toes get to spread out. I read the guidelines handed to me in pure confidence and agree that I will, high heels and all, save the lives of my fellow friends on flight 9053. 3 seats total the row, the middle seat is empty, and a lovely man sits in the window seat. He buys me a red wine ($5) because I spent all my cash in the terminal and the bizitches who are serving it have the nerve to actually charge-are you kidding? Oh well.
So, that’s where I am-watched Mr. & Mrs. Smith-horrible! Brad & Angelina can have each other. Lame.
Time for me to do a lap around the cabin and look for tall, dark & handsome…fill you in later!
my new motto:
If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found. ~Author Unknown
posted by Nicole at 10/11/2005
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home