The Day my Stomach, a Suitcase, and a Phone Plan made me cry
Warning: This post is NOT full of pictures and has a few TMI moments. Please bare with me.
This week was fairly unremarkable as far as weeks in Europe go. I ate a few good meals with coworkers, I went to my room and to bed early a few nights, I started contributing at work, I had a few mishaps that will be told at a later date, but nothing out of the ordinary. Due to this unremarkable nature of the week, instead of boring you with details in the realm of, “we drove to work...we ate at the car dealership again… stuck in traffic...I slept,” I had instead planned to go through the list of things I have learned and observed about Italian and Swedish cultures that I found particularly fascinating. Then Thursday happened.
I truly don’t know if it is the water or if I had been eating something at breakfast or lunch that did not agree with me or what, but I had been fighting headaches and stomachaches all week. It came and went in waves, but one night I was definitely in bed before 10pm because I just felt like garbage. Thursday was no exception. I woke up after a poor night’s sleep and already felt the inclination to lie on a couch with ginger ale and toast all day watching movies, you know?
Obviously that was not an option for me, so I finished packing, went down to breakfast, and headed to work with the crew as normal. My flight from Stockholm back to Milan was at 13:15 (1- look at me being all european with the 24 hour time clock… 2- I had to get back because Mom and Bob are here! Yayy), so I needed to be there about 11:45am, and the site is an hour from the airport by train. Doing the math, I had to leave work about 10:15am to drive the 15 minutes to the train station to catch the appropriate train.
The train pulls up, I find my seat, I awkwardly place my humongous suitcase in the seat next to me because I saw no other place that it would fit (just hoping no one would show up wanting to sit there), and I take the window seat. As soon as I got situated, my headache came on full force. It definitely did not help that going through tunnels in this train caused a big enough pressure difference that my ears continually felt like balloons inflating and deflating every few seconds.
No matter. I get there, I find my way up from the train station to the airport, have to ask a few people questions and chug about 25 oz. of water that I forgot to dump before security, but generally smooth sailing outside of feeling like crap. I walk to find some lunch and my gate. No problem. I’m fighting back some stomach jolts of pain at this point, but it wasn’t until I was on the plane that I just felt like a sack of miserable potatoes. All I wanted was to sleep, really sleep, not the pretend sleep you kind of sometimes can get on a plane while sitting straight up surrounded by strangers. I got fizzy water because it was the closest to ginger ale I could get and I thought that if I kept hydrating maybe it would eventually get rid of my headache. No luck. It was 2 hours of just dreaming about feeling better.. “Man, those are the days. When you don’t hurt and aren’t sleep deprived and your head doesn’t think getting hit by a hammer would be more enjoyable than its current state. Ahh. After today, I am going to appreciate those days more.” It’s similar to the miserably inebriated or hungover state where you can’t stop thinking, “I’m never drinking again. Never. Seriously, this time I mean it. Who needs alcohol? I don’t. This guy. No longer a drinker. Sober Sally’s the name. As soon as I can see straight and stop throwing up….I’m going clean. I’m just going to appreciate what my body can do all on its own, no alcohol needed.” Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about…
So I land in Frankfurt. Of course I misunderstand what time my next flight is (my ticket showed the boarding time and I thought it was the take-off time) so it takes a good 20 minutes of walking and staring at the boards and even asking someone (who gave me the wrong information… even though he was the guy with the clipboard when you get off a plane yelling, “Connections! Connecting Flight Information”) to figure out where I’m headed. I was starting to feel a little better, though retrospectively I think it was just the relative improvement of being off the plane, so I decided maybe I needed a little something to eat. I find a caprese sandwich of sorts and a water. My stomach feels better, but my head is still pounding and all I want to do is sit. Well, let me rephrase, all I really want to do is lie down on the ground, use my backpack as a pillow, and ask the gate agents to wake me for my flight so I can just pass out… but I figured that was inappropriate for a professional woman of 28 traveling for work.
I suffer through my layover and board the plane. Only 1 hour of flying left then I am back in Milan. The end is in sight. I close my eyes and listen to some William Tyler (one of the most calming and inspiring and beautiful guitarists from NC) and try to ignore it when my bluetooth headphones interrupt every 45 seconds to say “Battery Low” until they eventually died. We land, I get off the plane, normal normal normal, and then. Being SO anxious to just get back to my apartment, I walk out….. Without grabbing my suitcase from baggage claim. I noticed almost immediately and tried to walk back in, but security saw that I had “left” and was trying to return, so they didn’t let me come through. They motioned that I needed to leave then I could circle back through and get it. I nodded sadly and walked back out where dozens of people were waiting for their loved ones, and with no notice, I am a puddle of tears. The combination of being exhausted and stressed and feeling sick and then not knowing what to do next just broke me. What did he mean go around? Isn’t the only way back through there to go through security… which means I need a ticket… which I don’t have?? I walked around for a minute or two while wiping tears away, trying to find any sign that looked like something useful to me, but failed. I found the nearest bathroom and locked myself in a stall to just let out my ugly cry and text Matt. I already knew I was going to have to get my shit together and just handle it, ask for help, but the task sounded so intimidating and like more than I could handle in that moment. How do I explain to people that barely speak english that I was an idiot and forgot my bag and need to get back through? Am I going to have to buy a plane ticket just to get my bag? There’s no way that they WOULDN’T let me get my bag, is there?
While I bawled, my texts to Matt and my self-commentary included many expletives along a train of thought that went something like this:
I hate this.
F*** this.
I guess I have to do this.
I hate this.
Goddamn automatic flusher!
Aint nobody gonna do it for me, not even my mama (My Beachbody folks will understand that one)
I hate this.
I want to be home.
I’m too tired for this.
Alright, I can do this.
Seriously, autoflush, get a grip and stop spraying me with water!
Here I go.
Seriously, I choose the only stall without toilet paper???
I hate this.
I can do this.
I clean up the mascara that had spread all over my face and head out to find SOMEONE to ask for help. I wander awkwardly measuring everyone’s appearance on the following factors:
Do I think their job title will allow them to have the information I am seeking?
Do they look like they speak English?
Do they look nice?
I tried my best to find someone that met all three requirements and had to settle for asking someone that looked more like a ‘Yes, Yes, No’. I asked her if she spoke english, she said yes, so while trying to remain as calm as possible I explain the situation. She directed me to go down those stairs and go to arrivals and go through security down there. Oh, ok, so maybe there is a smaller security section for situations like this, or maybe if people picking up folks that are just arriving need to get through for some reason. Ok. Pretty simple. I walk down the steps and… surprise! I’m right back where I had come out before. Literally. Same place. Holds back more tears. What in the hell am I supposed to do now? So I wander more, looking for this secret ‘Arrivals Security’ to no avail. I finally see an actual help desk, so I walk up and ask the gentleman if he speaks english, he says, “A little.” I literally laugh out loud and prepare myself for a disaster of a conversation. I explain the situation and he ended up pointing me to the “Lost Baggage and Staff Only” door. Because obviously. I go in, and there is a single security system and 3 workers behind it. I ask if THEY speak english, the one woman confidently says yes and steps closer. I explain the situation for the 3rd time and say that I was directed here. She confirms with me that I would be getting my bag and leaving straight away and then tells me to put my purse and such on the conveyor and come through the metal detector. Success!
I am able to grab my suitcase and walk out, and then was so so so pleasantly surprised when I see a driver waiting there with a sign that says Jacobs. I go over to him and say “Leslie?” he nods and takes my bag. I had COMPLETELY forgotten that my office had scheduled a taxi for me with our preferred driving company, and I was more grateful than I think I can explain here.
I get back to my apartment and am texting mom to make dinner plans for the evening. I get a suggestion for a pizza joint by coworkers and tell mom I am going to ask one of my coworkers to make a reservation. Great! Within minutes I find out they do not have a table available until 9:30.. Too late. So we quickly pick another spot and Veronica so kindly makes a reservation for me at 8:30. Perfect. I immediately text mom to update her. I don’t get a response. Hm. Weird. Text again. Nothing. Send her the name of the new location and decide to just call her while walking towards their hotel. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. I call and I call. I call Bob. I text Bob. I call mom again. And again. What on EARTH are they doing?? Why are they not looking at their phones?!?!? I decide to walk to the restaurant so we don’t lose the table while continuing to call. Nothing. I start calling my sisters and Matt to see if they had heard anything. Nothing. I’m very quickly starting to get to panic mode (I am my mother’s daughter after all, and.. If I’m honest.. There was a smidge of irritation at first ha- love you guys!). Kathleen calls back and helps me walk through the last hour and (so smartly) suggests I go to the first restaurant. Why didn’t I think of that? So I head that way and about 2 minutes out, Mom calls. She confirms they are at Frijenno Magnanno (the first restaurant) and are sitting at a table. What on earth. I get there and find the two of them sitting at a table in the corner of the crowded restaurant with wine already poured. They quickly explain that Verizon appears to have screwed something up with their international plan and they were getting charged too much so they were shutting off data when not on WiFi. They had tried to connect to restaurant WiFi but with no help from the workers were unable to. They had been sitting there almost an hour in the same panic mode I was in. Technology is ridiculous sometimes.
I will give more details after the full weekend, but we had a great dinner that put a nice ending on an awful day- despite the fact that I got back to my apartment and realized I REALLY needed to do laundry and don’t have time (like, I wore a bathing suit bottom under my pants to work kind of need to do laundry). Oh well.
Now I am rested, I have stolen some ibuprofen from my ever-prepared mother, and I am SO ready to spend a beautiful weekend with people I love in beautiful Como.
Goodness Gracious.
See you soon!