The wake up call woke me at 7 A.M. in order to be on my way at eight. The flight was at 10:30 a.m., and since there was a twenty-six minute distance from the hotel to the airport, leaving at eight seemed fine.
Downstairs at check out I got directions from Mr. Concierge, which I was able to follow, that is until I got to the circle that connected to various exits, four to be exact. Once in the circle I could not remember which way the sign said, and there were no other signs around. So, I chose a way and apprehensively drove. As I rolled down a road that lead to a highway, I decided it was the wrong way. I stopped, K-turned, and drove back towards the circle. The fact the I was driving the wrong way down or up a one way, excited, rather then bothered me. Is that wrong?
As I drove around the circle, around, and around, I could not positively place which turn I had previously taken. Which way! I thought. As I looked at the time, I started to laugh a little, this being yet another style then the norm of losing it. I chose an exit. Surprise! It was the same exit I had cursed at twelve minutes earlier. Another K-turn, yet this time there was an oversized truck headed in my direction, so I moved over to the shoulder, making room for him. (Remember my car: half the size of a VW Bug) As we slowly crossed paths Mr. Trucker started to provoke me by honking his horn, while making gestures at me as if he could right my unhinged mind. My response, screaming "Callat," as I shook my fist at him.
Again the circle, again driving around it. I was going to miss my plane again due to being trapped in some episode of the 'Twilight Zone.' Other exits read no entry, and another lead a way that just didn't look right. Could the initial wrong way be the right way? Yes, I found that it most certainly can as I slowly drove it onto a highway and saw assuring airport signs. How embarrassing.
After returning the rental keys, (Yes, I was fined due to forgetting to refill the stupid gas tank) I stood in line with boarding pass in hand. When it was my turn to heave my bad onto the scale for check-in, I was told that my bag was eight pounds over, that I had to pay an extra 60 Euro for the extra weight. Well, I said absolutely not as I rolled the bag over, unzipped, and commenced taking items out. The following 10 minutes went:
Me: "How about now?" (As she weight the weight)
Mss. Puta: "No is still too heavy."
Me: "Now?" (Pulling out two pairs jeans)
Miss. Puta: "No not yet."
Me: "Now?"
Miss Puta: "Listen Miss -- Could you go to the side and do this -- There are people waiting."
Me: "Um no I can't go over to the side. I'm going to miss my plane because of this! (Bra in hand) What about now?"
Miss Puta: "No - is still too heavy, I'm sorry but I will have to call security if you do not move to the side."
I stand there and stare at her as if I were attempting to vex her.
Me: "Fine!" I got over to the side & opened the entire bag. I started to pull things out like a mad woman. My belongings were strewed all about --I ditched a pair of jeans, (They weren't mind anyway, sorry Jenna) & I tried to separate the heavier items from the not so heavy items. I shoved half of my belongings into a plastic bag - of course it didn't fit -- The thing was over flowing. I approached a young looking guy, bra still in hand, and requested to cut him, because I was about to miss my flight. He allowed me to go head -- Thank God.
When it was my turn sour Miss. Puta weighed my bag and said: "No, is still too heavy."
Me: "What do you mean it's too heavy! The bag is half empty! How much is it over?"
Miss Puta, "It is over by 1.2."
Me: "Really, you won't let me go over 1.2!"
Miss Puta: "Fine, go, you can go." (She stamped my boarding pass)
Me: "Yeah- Thanks."
I turn to the guy behind me, "Thank you so much."
The Guy: "No problem, you seem stressed," he said this as he looked at the bra in my hand.
I followed his eyes and said, "That is an understatement. So, where are you headed?"
The Guy: "Rome."
Me: "And you let me go ahead! You should be rushing too!"
The guy: "Yup." (Smiles)
Me: "Okay you go do your thing, I'll see you at the gate."
At this point I ran -- ran through security -- then to the gate. There was a long line of persons, and for some reason I thought: Cut in front of them, they must be from the next flight. Why I thought this I don't know, but I ran in front of the snake of people. The airline attendant gave me a puzzled look, and asked what I was doing. I told him that I was there for the Rome flight. He said, "All of these people are here for the Rome flight." I said, "O, I guess I'll go to the back of the line then." He nodded in agreement.
As I waited for boarding the Guy came over and introduced himself as Beykan, it's pronounced Bacon. I enjoyed this very much. We talked our way onto the plane and sat together. He had a friend -- but he went his own way. I took out my magnetic chess board and we played as we talked about our travels. He and his friend were traveling Europe for months. This trip for him was a last burst of freedom for him, since he was about to go into army for the next two or so years. Due to Beykan being Turkish, it was his unavoidable obligation to join army, all Turks are subject to it. I knew this of Israel, but not of Turkey. The thought of being forced into serving for the army is quite unsettling, since I feel trapped during a two hour lecture in a class room. So, that makes one point for the US.
Back to Beykan -- I checkmated him, it was a slaughter. (Love you Beykan) Haha. But what was more important is that each time the plane shook we held hands and squeezed. He squeezed harder which lead me to believe he was more frightened then I was. In actuality I wasn't frightened at all, I enfolded his fingers through mine to share the moment, nothing more. I had come a long way from the hysterics from the London bound flight.
Once we go to Rome, we exchanged information with hopes of meeting that night or the next. Unfortunately that did not happen. But forgetting you is something I choose not to do -- Here's proof Sucka.
Back to Smiling.
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