by Amber Hogue

 

            I felt like shit. My body shook and sweat meandered through my sleeves and pant legs like a slithering snake from all the rum I had consumed the night before. I was hung over to say the least. All I longed for was my down comforter and a warm, moist washcloth to nurse away the throbbing pain in my head.

            Instead I stood in the middle of the Hamburg airport searching for my gate. I couldn’t understand what the man was saying into the loud speakers because every time I tried to listen small fireworks would explode within my round, bauble head. Plugging my ears didn’t work either; no information could reach my central nervous system, which had an “out of order” sign pasted on my forehead warning the world. Anyway, I was forced to push my weak body through crowds of travelers with crest white smiles pasted across their baked on faces.

            I finally found my gate and had an hour to spare before my flight took off. My father shook my arms, pressing me for any last information before I departed for America. As I sat on the floor next to my over stuffed bags, the loud speakers came on once again and the screeching voice announced that my flight was delayed for another hour. I decided it was okay for me to spend all the emergency money my father had given, although he warned me not to. I purchased two cosmopolitans, despite how much rum I had guzzled the previous night, well not even seven hours ago. A trashy romance novel, some pretzels, and a pack of everlasting mint gum were my accomplice in wasting all of the money my father entrusted to me. Dragging my lethargic suitcases, and newly acquired indulgences I made it to the cheap plastic airport seats. My legs curled beneath me and novel clutched in my clammy hands I used all every muscle in my body to focus on the twisted scandal that awaited me. I licked my lips as I read about Jason licking every crevice of Samara’s body in the raunchy book I got. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an eight-year-old boy staring saucer eyed at the way my tongue could twist and turn to part my lips. I decided to put the book away for now, it could lead to awkward conversations with the child’s right winged middle America father.

            I curled myself into an even tighter ball and thought about my boyfriend, whom I was leaving to go work in the states rather than be with him. I just didn’t have enough energy to deal with those emotions; I was having enough trouble keeping down the pretzels that I shouldn’t have eaten earlier. I gazed out the window, into the foggy land of Germany, my parents’ birthplace. My thoughts quickly turned into a daydream. If you zone out completely you would be aghast at the bizarre thoughts that just sort of trickle in and out of your mind. Of course, it has its drawbacks, especially when fatigued. I barely made it on my plane, even though when I started to daydream, I still had half an hour to go.

Now if there one thing I hate its when they board a plane and just don’t take off. Every five minutes we here the pilot through his crackling walkie-talkie “just five more minutes folks”, or, in German “nur noch fuenf minuten meine damen und herren”. Not at all truthful. I just wondered that if they are still checking the plane, shouldn’t I not be sitting in it? If they find the damn explosive and it does go off, wouldn’t it have been more pleasant for me had I been in my plastic seat, however uncomfortable that might have been. It is one of those annoying a situation that never fails to baffle me, closely followed by my dogs never ending fascinations with other dog’s butts. And why humans greet each other with a handshake when dogs really seems to get a liking for each other from the smell that wafts up from down there.

After about twenty minutes of sporadicall announcements I felt a vibration under me, aha I thought, we are either exploding or finally moving forwards. It turns out my life was being spared and my journey was moving onwards. With the engines roaring painfully in my ears, we took off. As the pressure built, so did my oncoming fatigue. But I didn’t want to sleep yet. I wanted to be extra tired on the long flight, for this was just the appetizer; my entrée was the flight from London Heathrow to San Francisco airport in California. I had heard horror stories, which I chose to ignore. I could not imagine an airport as stifling full and awful as people had described London Heathrow to me. How wrong I was I was soon to find out.

But first I was sitting on Flight number one forcing my glassy eyes onto a page in my book. Finally I was free to read about sexual escapades and cheating men. The women next to me was stirring, she seemed to be surprised to find herself in a moving plane, she had dozed off after the first announcements and probably thought we should have arrived by now.  I thought of her as Russian, she looked like those stacking dolls I had had and spread throughout the entire house when I was younger. Her head was wrapped in colorful scarves. Her eyes and features were both strict and kind, not the kind of women you would want to catch you reading about intercourse. I slapped shut my book, making a child next to me cry. Terrific. As much I love human offspring, if they cry on the plane I am an intolerant passenger and not afraid to admit it. I can never understand the people who just offer the mother a sympathetic gaze; obviously their eardrums are defective.

I leaned back and pressed my head into the seat trying to stay calm and not turn around and snap something impolite; I felt a sharp tapping at my shoulder. I looked over

to see the Russian woman holding out a mint to me. I was faced with the personal decision to offend the nice woman or endanger my life by taking one of her poisonous mints. If I took the mint it would clear the crusted taste of rum from my mouth. I decided to risk it. I flashed her a smile and plopped the tiny mint into my mouth. I regretted it immediately and saw my life flash before my eyes. I remember the good old days back on solid ground. I was certain the mint was going to kill me, just like the apple killed Snow White. My head began to hurt. Self-Note: YOU ARE HUNGOVER! NOT DYING FROM THE POISONED MINT! The mint dissolved, I counted to thirty and drew a shaky breath. I was alive.

 

Four Hours Later. London Heathrow Airport was worse than I warned. Bustling passengers pushed through each other, sometimes screaming profanities at one another. I stood there in the middle of the airport, looked down at my watch and as soon ticked I pretended to faint, in hopes that someone would help me. Lying on the floor, I peeked one eye open behind my fogged glasses to see that no one seemed to care that I was dead. Someone kicked me and told me to wake up and move. I guess they thought I was napping. I was taking up much more space than needed. Since no one took notice to my sudden illness, I pulled myself together and headed for my next flight. A large red sign reading, DEPARTED flashed in my face. I took up another plastic chair and cried. Heathrow was far too much for me in my weakened state. I decided to take nap. A woman on the loud speaker announced the second departure before what felt like five minutes. I boarded the next plane and this time was stuck next to an old man who apparently was diagnosed with chronic flatulence. Not that he didn’t try to hide it, I saw him clenching. The muffled sound escaped anyway along with the treacherous smell. I guess the flight attendants felt sorry for me because she bumped me up to first class, far away from the tooting man.

I sat amidst the richest of the rich. Old men groveled at the heels of the botox-injected women who were at least 15 years their junior. Mothers and daughters wore matching juicy couture sweat suits and fathers granted them all their desires with the swish of a hand. I felt very out of place in my ripped sweatpants and my boyfriends button up flannel. The flight attendant offered me a glass of airplane champagne and I graciously accepted. Bad idea. I rushed to the nearest bathroom and regurgitated the fine bubbly. I passed out for the majority of the ten-hour flight.  A British accent resonated throughout the plane announcing our arrival to Los Angeles. I jerked awake and gathered my belongings eager to reach American soil.

LAX airport seemed easygoing compared to Heathrow. I casually made my way to my next flight and discovered that I would have to stay overnight at the Hilton because once again the plane had left without me. Unfortunately, all of my emergency money went towards frivolous things that I didn’t need, so I had to beg the Hilton to feed me for free, I passed out entirely clothed, even though there was one of those MTV Super Sweet Sixteen parties going on downstairs. Four AM came early and I wanted to catch up on a little sleep at least.

Beep Beep Beep Beep. My alarm clock rang showing no sympathy for my delirious body. Once again I crammed all of my stuff into my obese suitcases and made it to the airport. An hour later I was off for San Francisco. Nestled between two large evangelistic, McDonalds loving Americans I wept. The two shouted back and forth, remnants of their breakfast hitting my cheek as they sloppily spat their words out.  All I wanted was for my boyfriend to come save me and scare these people with his rough German accent. Finally we reached San Francisco. I ran off the plane squeezing past the businessmen, large families, and of course the fat Jesus loving couple. I kissed the ground with delight. Home at last, I thought. Home at last.