Woke up in London yesterday
Throughout my life, I've had a series of moments of private hilarity, as I'm sure everyone does. A lot of these stories have to do with bodily fluids. I won't share any of those today. Some of them make me feel like I've stepped in a comedy skit without being informed beforehand. The story I'd like to share today was one of those moments.
It was my first time to leave the country, first time crossing the Atlantic, and first time in London. The flight was around 9 hours, and the fact that I was going ahead in time so quickly completely off-set my body clock. So, while I was traipsing rather dramatically through the London Heathrow airport, I was a mix of exhausted, excited, and anxious (woah, three words with x's in them!). And then I got to customs.
I thought it was going to be a simple process: here's my passport, yes I'm allowed to enter your country, have a good day. Of course that's not how it goes. And it didn't help that I had never actually met the friend I was staying with while in London, which made them decide to do a background check on him before letting me through.
After about an hour of just sitting and waiting in a small area away from all the lucky people getting through, I was guided to a few back rooms where they took my fingerprints, asked me questions, and went through my bags. It was a party. After all that, they weren't convinced just yet, so they put me in a room that was locked from the outside. Let me tell you about this room.
There were a few rows of hard benches, along with tables that were cluttered with newspapers of all different languages. There were bathrooms in this room, but the doors had about a foot cut out from the bottom and from the top...making it incredibly embarrassing, had I needed to pee. The worst part of it was, however, the damn tv.
Ok, British tv is weird and funny. I think that's well known. But the people watching over us thought it wasn't torture at all to put it on a kids' station for at least a couple of hours before turning it to--wait for it--a news update on the local water foul. You heard that right. It was just ducks and swans and geese walking around, swimming, making ducky noises. There was no explanation to this--no spoken or written words to show why I was being subjected to watching birds occasionally freak out on each other on television. And for another hour or so, it was just me and those bastard ducks.
I don't know why I was punished so horribly just for being under prepared on my first journey over the pond, but the Brits sure know what they're doing when it comes to the ducks. Every time I think about ducks and swans and geese, now, I feel like I belong in a straight jacket and have to start rocking back and forth a little just to make it stop. In a way, though, I knew I would find it humorous once I had had sleep and food. In the moment, I could have destroyed that damn tv with an ax, had I been provided one.
It was my first time to leave the country, first time crossing the Atlantic, and first time in London. The flight was around 9 hours, and the fact that I was going ahead in time so quickly completely off-set my body clock. So, while I was traipsing rather dramatically through the London Heathrow airport, I was a mix of exhausted, excited, and anxious (woah, three words with x's in them!). And then I got to customs.
I thought it was going to be a simple process: here's my passport, yes I'm allowed to enter your country, have a good day. Of course that's not how it goes. And it didn't help that I had never actually met the friend I was staying with while in London, which made them decide to do a background check on him before letting me through.
After about an hour of just sitting and waiting in a small area away from all the lucky people getting through, I was guided to a few back rooms where they took my fingerprints, asked me questions, and went through my bags. It was a party. After all that, they weren't convinced just yet, so they put me in a room that was locked from the outside. Let me tell you about this room.
There were a few rows of hard benches, along with tables that were cluttered with newspapers of all different languages. There were bathrooms in this room, but the doors had about a foot cut out from the bottom and from the top...making it incredibly embarrassing, had I needed to pee. The worst part of it was, however, the damn tv.
Ok, British tv is weird and funny. I think that's well known. But the people watching over us thought it wasn't torture at all to put it on a kids' station for at least a couple of hours before turning it to--wait for it--a news update on the local water foul. You heard that right. It was just ducks and swans and geese walking around, swimming, making ducky noises. There was no explanation to this--no spoken or written words to show why I was being subjected to watching birds occasionally freak out on each other on television. And for another hour or so, it was just me and those bastard ducks.
I don't know why I was punished so horribly just for being under prepared on my first journey over the pond, but the Brits sure know what they're doing when it comes to the ducks. Every time I think about ducks and swans and geese, now, I feel like I belong in a straight jacket and have to start rocking back and forth a little just to make it stop. In a way, though, I knew I would find it humorous once I had had sleep and food. In the moment, I could have destroyed that damn tv with an ax, had I been provided one.
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