04 December 2011

Just Getting to Being On My Way | NZ iv

Wednesday, 30 November, 2011

It's amazing, at least to me, what can transpire in a single day. I don't think there was one aspect of my life that did not get consideration on what should forever be known as Interminable Wednesday. With the lights on and my priorities realigned, I made my way through security (no squishing required), and to the gate 25 minutes before take off. All I really wanted was a shower, a change of clothes and a window up against which I could sleep for the next 12 hours. As you can imagine, I got none of that. The flight was delayed, because having power is not the same as having systems. Departure was rescheduled for "as soon as possible." Eight and a half hours after the airport shuttle arrived at my door, I was a mere six hour drive from home. I had been stressed, vexed, annoyed, disgusted, dirtied and refocused. And then I was nearly pushed over the edge, by going to the duty free shop. 

If any part of you thinks I would visit a duty free shop for any part of me, slap yourself. Do it. I went for Ang. She needed perfume and I had the time to get it. I sifted through creams and blemish removers. I skipped over the wrinkle fighting serums and the collagen blabbity blahs. I gave serious thought to the booze. I shook my head at women and at the society that wants them to be "better" by not being as they are. My eyes watered. My sinuses ached. I found my holy grail (Beautiful by Estee Lauder) and lined up to pay. The woman at the counter made a move as if to ignore me. It was one of those "now what's to be done with this stack of papers under this stapler" things. I held up my box and shook it at her
"Do you want to know how much it is?"
"No. I want to BUY it."
I threw my words at her. I laced them with poison and hurled them with the catapults I keep hidden in my eyes. How dare she? I was weary. I was hungry. I was trying to keep the scents from further blurring my vision. I was in the international terminal of the airport, beyond the "ticketed passengers only" sign. I was literate enough to find the duty free shop, which meant I could read the $65 sticker on the box. She was one word, one sigh, from a... a something that would not have been very pleasant. I was tempted to walk out backwards, to stare her down and make a point. But there are just some things you do not do in airports. And I could not get out of there fast enough.

I nested near another outlet / garbage can and waited. I did some deep breathing. I remembered my lessons from Nelly. I counted blessings and re-regrouped. And then they called my name to the podium. 

Lord in heaven, just let me get there already. 

They just wanted to reprint my boarding pass. And they said boarding would begin in 15 minutes.
"You board in 15 minutes?" Me
"Yes." Ticket Agent
"So I don't have time to get a cocktail?"
"Yeah you do."
"Well then I'm going. Don't leave me."
"We won't."

And they didn't. I had two cocktails in those 15 minutes. I'm okay with that. I boarded. I buckled my seat belt. I arranged my in flight entertainment. I made nice with my aisle-mates. FINALLY. I was on my way to New Zealand.

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