I began my morning around 7am and arrived at the airport around 10am. After a relatively uneventful exchange of hello’s to the other students on the trip, we all began checking in our bags. A rather militant American Airlines employee shuffled us to each ticket kiosk whipping his head around shouting out orders on which button to press and if we slipped in speed he would press the button for us. In the aftermath, I said a tearful goodbye to Eliot and went through the security check.
The flight to Dallas was uneventful save for the good luck in getting an isle seat. And not only an isle seat, but one with an empty center seat. Priceless in the flying world. An interesting Asian boy a little older than me sat in the window seat, laughing now and again allowed to the book he was reading. I seemed as though I blinked and we were landing in Dallas. Unfortunately, I had an entire bottle of water before boarding the plane and it was now ready to make it’s exit. I stood quickly behind the long line of passengers as all of them took what seemed to be hours repacking and organizing their carryon bags. Finally I exited the plane, but, was quickly shuffled with our group in the direction of the tram.
Ah, the tram. It may make me sound juvenile and immature but it is my favorite thing in the airport. I feel as though I am in a futuristic society where any moment George Jettson and his family will go flying by in their family space ship. It goes without saying, but this distracted me for a time from the incredible urgency building in my lower abdomen. We soon reached our destination and after a few more hiccups I finally saw the glorious figure of a woman in an unusually pointy dress.
Our flight from Dallas to Madrid was scheduled to leave at 4:45pm. Seeing as it was only 3 o’clock, Sarah Roll (my roomie while in Madrid) and I roamed the terminal. It was mostly uninteresting but for this interesting stainless steal sculpture. I felt like “that girl” as I stood taking a photo of it, but I don’t care.
Sarah and I went to our various restaurants, me eating a burrito and her a blended coffee from star bucks. We made our way back to the gate and I plopped myself down in a sunny corner to charge my computer.
The intercom kicked up informing us that our flight would be delayed an hour. There was a maintenance issue our pilot would later explain was “nothing” although that “nothing” ended up taking 3 hours to fix making our flight delayed and our next day in Madrid crunched for time. I am not too worried, I am sure that no one will mind the bags under my eyes in the fancy restaurant tomorrow night.
We boarded around 7 pm and I found myself wedged between to girls in the very center seat in the back of the plane. The girl to my right and I struck up a conversation as soon as I sat down. It turns out she is studying in Spain as well with another college. She and I spent a good portion of the first hour and a half of the flight talking about anything and everything.
The girl to my left however, was another story. Virtually unresponsive to my “sorry's" and "excuse me's" for making her get up for me, I assumed she spoke a different language. That was until our dinner arrived and my ranch dressing packet erupted from the cabin pressure onto me and my pre packaged blanket. “That same thing happened to me!” she said, normally and intelligently. I was a taken aback, but not surprised that her socially awkward tendencies carried over into the way she spoke.
“And what’s the deal with airplane food? Huh?” Everybody has heard the stand up before but that doesn’t make it not true. Somewhere between hospital and prison, our pre packaged meal was less than appetizing, I managed to swallow a buttered roll, an oatmeal bar and some brown leafs of lettuce covered in the above mentioned explosive ranch dressing.
There was a mild scene that took place about 3 hours into the flight that involved a flight attendant and an unruly drink cart. It involved her, stomping and kicking the cart repeatedly and angrily as a small audience waited in the isle for her to finish exerting her aggression. I turned as an avid spectator and laughed a little as Brian, the effeminate flight attendant, made grimacing faces, never loosing his chipper and cheery domineer only possessed by those on some illegal drug.
At one point in the flight, I looked up to see The Office playing on one of the off colored TV monitors I frantically scrambled to plug in my head phones and enjoyed a good laugh. It didn’t matter that it was a re-run, The Office is The Office and who knows how long it will be before I will have English speaking television.
Listen to me, I make it sound as though I am going back into the dark ages.
This entry is long and I am well aware of that, but most of the following entries will more than likely be short if I even remember to update them daily, so I thought I would expound a bit. Well, that, and a nine hour flight is a long time to sit and do nothing.
I am going to stop writing and watch “Horton Hears a Who” in Spanish, which is the apparent movie choice of the evening. Maybe the childishness will put me to sleep, let’s all hope so.
Next time I write I will be in Madrid! Seems crazy, my brain hasn’t quite caught up yet. In 6 hours it will be 11 am in Spain and my new day will have begun.
Until then, I love you all.
Adios!
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