I procrastinated all of my International Bachlaurette projects in high
school, all my Christmas shopping last year, and now packing for the
World Cup. As I sat overwhelmed in my apartment amongst boxes stacked
four feet high over flowing with Team USA merch, I kept telling myself
it just hasn't hit yet that I'm going to a world changing event. Even
as I rolled a tad over 100 t-shirts and somehow stuffed them into two
pieces of luggage, the sheer monstrosity of this thing had yet to hit.
That is until I had to lug the overstuffed monstrosities down three
flights of stairs to my car.
(imagine a picture of me pulling my hair out and just kicking
suitcases down the hallway)
Never again will I live on in an apartment above or below ground
level. I learned at the airport check-in station that I officially man
handled 100 pounds of team logo gear, this of course excludes my own
bags; my go-to blue alp-hiking back pack I broke in this summer while
filming The Grand Rescue in the Teton Mountains, and the only good
thing that came out of a two year relationship with Chris Campbell -
an oversized yellow purse bigger than my torso - which I refer to as
"my one personal item" when flight attendants look at me quizzically.
*Contents of my purse as of boarding in Casper included:
-one blanket
-Love in the Time of Cholera
-one water bottle
-one flask
-two sets of headphones
-a storage clipboard containing all my tariff/world cup documents
-a toque (Canadian for hat)
-three pairs of gloves
-one scarf
-some gum
-my makeup bag
-my billfold
-the square (lookup the app, it's amazing for merchants!)
-my Passport
-three markers
-cell phone charger
-some post-its
and last but not least
-another purse... one that's much smaller and much more manageable.
Yeah, I know, it's practically one of those magic bags from Harry
Potter... and yes people asked if I was planning on staying
permanently in Canada*
Apparently if a checked bag weighs more than 50 lbs, the airline will
tac on an additional one hundred dollar fee. Guess who's bag weighed
61.5 pounds? The desk lady suggested maybe I had a heavy pair of
jeans in one bag I could switch over to the other; that suggestion
literally shattered mid-air when I unzipped the first suitcase to
reveal an endless pit of neatly stacked shirts. I ended up playing a
complicated game of t-shirt Tetris.
My task completed and the fee avoided, I sat nearby on one of those
awkward-but-incredibly-comfortable couches with my friend Tracy (if
god exists, may he/she/it bless her soul for waking up at 4AM to
accompany me to the airport so I could avoid parking fees) before
heading to the security line. While chatting it up like the Ya-Ya
Sisterhood, Tracy introduced me to some acquaintances sitting across
from us. They were a family headed to Kentucky but destined for a
final stop in Germany; a military station reassignment.
My grandpa chose the profession of an air force pilot in his hay day;
hearing these folks reminded me of stories my mom told me about when
she lived in Germany and the Philippines. The nostalgia and thought of
having the opportunity to earn my living in a foreign country almost
made me pine for a career in the military... almost, but not really at
all. My mind whipped out of that idea quicker than security could say
"Please proceed through the security line," which they did.
Before Tracy headed back into the still, black morning again, she
asked "So did you see Bridesmaids?"
ME: "Yes."
T: "Does it look like there's any fucking moose heads hanging in the
airport here?"
ME: "OMG! No one is dressed in plaid either!!!"
There you have it America, classic Hollywood film stereotype
shattered. Bliggity-Blam!
One body scan later, I ended up sitting on the plane next to the
military family from earlier. No witty banter this time though, I
literally face-planted into the window and remained in a sleep induced
coma for the next hour and a half of flight time (I've been up for
well over 24 hours) until we landed in Denver for my aircraft switch
direct to Canada.
The flight to Toronto lacked a full aircraft which meant my purse got
to completely overtake the seat next to me... and then some. If only
my iPhone didn't constitute the majority of my travel blogging desktop
setup, I'd take a picture for you.
At the beginning of the flight, the crew nonchalantly informed us the
pilot's name is Tyler Derden... then again, I shouldn't have leaked
those details. You see, I'm really not allowed to talk about our
"Flight Club." I will spill these beans; however, the man catty corner
up from me is digging for gold and about to go two knuckles deep...
I'm just praying Mr. Derden finds some turbulence before The Nose
Miner gets a "taste" of victory.
No comments:
Post a Comment