The Journey

Thursday was a long, long day. And will be followed by a long, long post. Ready?

There is my desk, and the chaos of paper writing and packing.

I managed to wake up, shower, reread my 8.25 page paper and leave my dorm by 8:15 Thursday morning. From there I walked in the drizzly rain to the library, where I realized my hair had transformed from straight and dry to a curling, frizzy mess. I also realized that 8:30 am is the perfect time to go to the library; no one is there! I almost fainted at the amount of available computers. By nine I'd printed my paper and checked out a few books for my next paper, and proceeded to the Humanities department office where horror upon horrors, I had a mini panic attack.

There, on the door, the office hours: opens Monday-Wednesday at 9am. Thursday 10am.

Of course I was leaving for the airport at 10am. Luckily I recovered enough to knock on the door, and someone answered and let me hand in my paper early, after, of course, I blurted out a panicked explanation.

I made it back to my dorm by 9:40 with tea and muffin in hand, and by 10 past was heading to the bus stop with Lauren, who walked with me to say goodbye. Rather than pay 20 pounds for a 20 minute cab ride, I paid 2.80 for a 50 minute bus ride. I suppose for the money the extra length was worth it.

Upon arrival at the Manchester airport I proceeded to get lost on my way from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3. I blame the signs. But after dragging two heavy suitcases up ramps, up escalators, into elevators, over travelators (aka moving sidewalks), around people, and asking about three different workers, I finally found the right spot. And checked in my suitcase, which made maneuvering much easier - even though I think my back pack gained 20 lbs.

The flight from Manchester to London is 35 minutes. Which means you're at cruising altitude for about 3.8 minutes. But I spotted the London eye out the window and had to contain my excitement and my urge to take a picture. Note I was sitting in the aisle seat and the young Asian kid next to the window would have thought I was a Creepy McCreeperson if I leaned over with a camera.

Heathrow airport was only slightly less confusing than Manchester, but that was probably just luck. It's huge and (like Manchester) doesn't tell you your gate number until about a half hour to an hour before take off. So I wandered around since it was essentially a mall with terminals, wheeling my carry on beside me. My carry on has four wheels so instead of dragging it I like to roll it next to me and pretend it's a robot. In fact I named it Charlie. We enjoyed wandering the shops...or at least I did. Charlie is a robot and has no feelings. Just beep boops.

I had this egg salad sandwich for lunch which I only got through half of before disliking it.

Charlie just chilled in his little robot way.

Later I got a yummy raspberry and coconut loaf from Starbucks.

When I finally knew my gate number I [correctly] followed signs to a tram, reminiscent of Orlando Intl. Airport's only underground and much, much faster.

Before getting on the plane, a cute guy with his arm in a sling caught me staring, but I figured on a double decker plane there was no way I'd ever see him again. Wrong. Guess who sat right across the aisle. And guess who actually said three - three - words to said cute guy? However those three words, "That's really unfortunate," launch me into part 2 of guess how lucky I got in seating arrangements.

Just before we began to taxi, a flight attendant came over to the man sitting behind sling guy, asking if he was okay. I turned around and this man (who I later learned was only 29 years old) looked like he was about to be sick or pass out. So another attendant came over and all I heard was "go get some oxygen!" Suddenly a bunch of flight attendants (lots of butts in my face) were giving this man an oxygen mask and asking him questions, concerned because, as one attendant pointed out, "We are about to fly over the Atlantic." In other words, that's a long 7 hours to be sick on a plane.

The man, previously hot (the plane was a little stifling before take-off), was now complaining of being cold. It was difficult not to look back, but I didn't want to make the man feel worse. But it didn't matter because for the most part the man just sat there with his eyes closed, breathing oxygen.

Suddenly, and all this time we've been taxying and I've been worrying, the captain's on the speaker telling us we have to go back because of a medical emergency.

Paramedics joined the attendants and my neighbor, the one right next to me, not sling guy, started talking. And talking. And talking. I tried to channel my mother and for the most part successfully engaged in conversation, but it was tiring. The younger guy next to the window (there were three of us, obviously - with a row of four in the middle and another row of three on the other side) was reading. Smart.

Finally about an hour later the sick man was wheeled off the plane and that's when me and sling guy had our moment. The kind you can only have once you have something significant in common. And medics tending to a man behind you while simultaneously smacking you in the head because of the small space is definitely worthy of a look, which we proceeded to share before I made my profound statement.

I then watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, which made me infinitely happy because it hasn't even come out on DVD yet. I also watched Burlesque and eventually seven hours passed. Lucky for me the reading window guy stopped his reading on our descent, and middle talkative guy turned his attention to him. Window guy was closer to my age and from Scotland, while middle guy was about 40 and from Maine. (Sling guy, which I later found out, was French. And spoke French to one of the flight attendants. Lovely.)

How nice it was to finally get home! :)