May 28-29, Seattle
It’s the little things in life that frustrate me. The big crises-and this, in terms of a holiday abroad, counts as a monumental cockup-are what they are. Like losing my keys in the passing of five seconds. Infuriating. But finding my car stolen? That’s happened a couple times before, and what can you do but make the requisite calls and move ahead? Life goes on, for the living.
And, besides, I had cash. The folks at the UAL/AC ticket stand did what they could. I could fly out at 0850 the next morning, which worked well enough, as it beat paying out for a whole new ticket via BA. Many thanks to Barb M. for straightening all of that out.
So I retreated to a nearby hotel, a Red Roof Inn, got a room with a king size bed-despite their apologies, I loved it-drank steadily, and watched five hours of NCIS on TNT, followed by Casino Royale. Cheap pizza and cigarettes, along with enough bourbon, can make any dark night of the soul seem a bit brighter. Or, at least, you don’t mind the darkness so much.
I could be wrong, of course, but it seemed a simple enough proposition: What is a holiday without an adventure? And, to be certain, the adventure was just getting underway; at least the rest of it was, if not strictly enjoyable throughout, better than that.
Showing posts with label Seattle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seattle. Show all posts
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
May 28 - Seattle (I'm not psychic, just paranoid)
28 May - Seattle
The First Rule of International Travel: Do not, under any circumstances, allow your Passport to the custody of anyone else.
Well, obviously you have to hand it over to various officals whose job it is to inspect the things, but aside from that, no, no, and no. The story so far: On Thursday night, at dinner, Carisa suggested that we photocopy our passports; in case of emergency-that is, a lost Passport-it should make at least some difference as the Embassy irons things out. You know, with all that technology, the State Department needs that kind of basic help in order to help you. It almost makes sense if taken with a stiff shot of sarcasm.
You can almost tell where this story goes, already, right?
Mom stayed with her sister Thursday night. "Sue has a photocopier," she said. There's a bit more to it than that, but this is the vital point. It seemed logical.
Friday morning dawns, and shortly before setting up to rally with Drew and Carisa, I called Mom, feeling almost foolish. I am the one who forgets obvious things, like, oh, say, a Passport. "Just making sure we've got all the Passports," I said. Of course she did. "Sorry. Guess I'm just being paranoid."
Sue drove us to the airport from Drew's. Along the way, I asked for my Passport. I'm superstitious in certain ways. Everyone is. Superstition is one of those things in life, you know, those things, wink-wink, nudge-nudge-that everybody does, and if they say they don't, they're lying. “It’s in the back,” she told me. But I did get the photocopy. In truth, at this writing, I have no idea where that went. Never mind.
See it? See it coming? Of course you do.
The look on Mom’s face when she discovered my Passport missing-resting comfortably, as she soon recalled, on the copier glass-was something I hadn’t seen for about twenty years. It was the same anguished expression and tone of voice I remember when I wrecked the hell out of her car.
Things fall apart. Life goes on, for the living. And, since nobody was dead ... right?
Frantic phone calls all around until we caught up with Jim, one of my cousins, who immediately agreed to see what he could find at his mother’s. And, surely enough, there it was. He made a valiant effort to get the Passport to me in time for the flight, but the fates of traffic were against him from the outset. Hope for the sake of hope, certainly, but always be realistic. Disappointment hurts less on some occasions when you don’t bite your nails or gnash your teeth in hope of a last-second miracle.
Many thanks to Jim, though. It certainly beat taking a cab back to Edmonds.
The First Rule of International Travel: Do not, under any circumstances, allow your Passport to the custody of anyone else.
Well, obviously you have to hand it over to various officals whose job it is to inspect the things, but aside from that, no, no, and no. The story so far: On Thursday night, at dinner, Carisa suggested that we photocopy our passports; in case of emergency-that is, a lost Passport-it should make at least some difference as the Embassy irons things out. You know, with all that technology, the State Department needs that kind of basic help in order to help you. It almost makes sense if taken with a stiff shot of sarcasm.
You can almost tell where this story goes, already, right?
Mom stayed with her sister Thursday night. "Sue has a photocopier," she said. There's a bit more to it than that, but this is the vital point. It seemed logical.
Friday morning dawns, and shortly before setting up to rally with Drew and Carisa, I called Mom, feeling almost foolish. I am the one who forgets obvious things, like, oh, say, a Passport. "Just making sure we've got all the Passports," I said. Of course she did. "Sorry. Guess I'm just being paranoid."
Sue drove us to the airport from Drew's. Along the way, I asked for my Passport. I'm superstitious in certain ways. Everyone is. Superstition is one of those things in life, you know, those things, wink-wink, nudge-nudge-that everybody does, and if they say they don't, they're lying. “It’s in the back,” she told me. But I did get the photocopy. In truth, at this writing, I have no idea where that went. Never mind.
See it? See it coming? Of course you do.
The look on Mom’s face when she discovered my Passport missing-resting comfortably, as she soon recalled, on the copier glass-was something I hadn’t seen for about twenty years. It was the same anguished expression and tone of voice I remember when I wrecked the hell out of her car.
Things fall apart. Life goes on, for the living. And, since nobody was dead ... right?
Frantic phone calls all around until we caught up with Jim, one of my cousins, who immediately agreed to see what he could find at his mother’s. And, surely enough, there it was. He made a valiant effort to get the Passport to me in time for the flight, but the fates of traffic were against him from the outset. Hope for the sake of hope, certainly, but always be realistic. Disappointment hurts less on some occasions when you don’t bite your nails or gnash your teeth in hope of a last-second miracle.
Many thanks to Jim, though. It certainly beat taking a cab back to Edmonds.
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