It’s 6:35am and I’m in Brussels, sitting next to a snoozing teen with stinky feet, enjoying a gingerbread latte and lemon poppy seed muffin from yes, you guessed it, Starbucks. Evidently I am that American this morning. It’s one of the many fond memories I have from my two day stopover in Brussels on my way here. What I don’t remember is that said morning treat costs 8 Euros. I failed to remember this because my serendipitous travel partner, the millionaire sugar daddy, was paying for everything. Is that even possible…to spend $14 on a muffin and a cup of coffee? Awkwardly, Europeans were chatting with the woman behind the counter, pointing at the Venti cup, shaking their heads, commenting on how enormous all things American are, including Americans themselves. I smile apologetically and say, “Oui, c’est vrai” as I select my deliciously oversized muffin under the glass display case with my grubby little finger.
The first leg of the trip was significant in the sense that it was uneventful. I am curious as to how it never fails that the people that seem most irritating, rude, or unable to maintain their composure in public (of which I decide on in the terminal waiting to board) always seem to be sitting next to me on the oversized aircraft. Last night, it was two small toddlers. I haven’t concluded what was more off-putting –the children themselves or their mothers. Typically, I find African children to be calm, obedient, and rather self-entertaining. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Child one had two favorite words, “Mine and Hi!”…neither of which I found remotely adorable at 2am. The other child parroted this with “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” or in between fits of whining, crying, and jumping on his seat. The mothers did not appear disturbed by this in the least, which I found puzzling. Even more perplexing was every time one of them cried, the response was “Sorry, sorry, sorry” followed by a lot of coddling. I understand being tired and exhausted and being up way past your bedtime, flying through the air on a strange piece of metal in the sky. What I don’t understand is the inability to acknowledge that there are a few hundred other passengers on your flight. I was not pleased. Quite possibly another sure sign that I’m not ready to reproduce. Luckily, my flight narcolepsy kicked in promptly at the commencement of Ice Age 3, and I was awoken to breakfast within 45 minutes outside of Brussels. Excellent.
Chicago was another story. No need to remind anyone that the Sunday of Thanksgiving is kinda a big travel day. My connection was only an hour and fifteen minutes to begin with and we got in 20 minutes late. Sooo, by the time I went through customs, rechecked my luggage, rode on the tram, and got to my domestic security check point, I was tearing off my clothes, throwing my clogs in the bin, frantically running through the metal detector. This is the point when I wish I was wearing a head cam. Keep in mind that I have a sizeable carry-on bag and a large handmade tote overloaded and surprisingly heavy with Rwandan crafts that I had been cursing since Kigali. So here I am, weaving through the crowded terminal, stopping every ten feet because I can’t run for longer than this. I am gasping and panting for breath; I am beet red; I am sweating profusely despite the fact that it’s wintertime and I’m only wearing a fleece. I get to my gate at 2:17. My flight to NOLA left at 2:15. The woman looks up at me from her computer and calmly says, “You must be Aimee.” Ah, yes. She hands me my next boarding pass to St. Louis. This flight begins boarding at 2:20 and is in the next terminal over. At this point, I am not only cursing my carry-on luggage, but the size of O’Hare airport and begin sprinting back the way I came from. I make it to the St. Louis gate as they are boarding. I sit down between two women and they both ask me with great concern if I am ok, as my heart is thumping out of my chest at this point and I’m basically incapable of breathing. I pass out for the 40 minute flight, rest for the hour or so in St. Louis, and miraculously make it back by early evening…to the home I had craved, ached for, and missed for the six months I was away, with a good friend waiting for me (and my luggage waiting, too =)
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