sucks on a plane

So I went back to the States for 3 weeks this past month (France does have its perks) which was great. Getting there however, was not.

Firstly, when you are of Asian decent and you cross boarders you instantly become a souvenir mule for your parents and all of their friends. Things found globally and are oddly shaped (new rule: not shaped like Tetris? Stays in Paris) filled up 90% of my suitcase requiring a supplemental bag just for my clothes.

But I managed to arrange things in such a way that, in theory, a 100 lbs girl can shelp through public transport to get to the airport. Then I stepped out of my apartment and onto the sidewalk and the standing part on the bottom of my suitcase brakes off.

Great, but on we go because there is no other option and at least I can still tilt and roll the thing. Unfortunately I still have to pick up it to go down the stairs in rush hour metro traffic. There are 3 tricks to this:

1. Exaggerate your movements [get attention]
2. Look extremely pathetic [get pity]
3. Go very very slowly and take a lot of breaks [be in someone’s way so that they have no choice but to help you]

So I finally managed to get to the RER and to the right platform downstairs and it’s suspiciously empty. Why? There’s a strike. The platform to the airport is upstairs.

So upstairs I go and when I get there everyone and their mother is there because the trains are running 1 out of 3. I stand and wait crammed up against god knows who with my broken suitcase (whom I’ve nicknamed “Tilty”) and push and shove my way on the train when it finally arrives. I even manage to get a seat.

We finally reach the terminal and the thought of being free of bags motivates me onward to the check in desk only for them to tell me that I have to pay 35 euros to check in the second bag. I don’t even argue, at this point 35 euros to be rid of them sounded like a steal.

Unforch my flight wasn’t direct so in Chicago I had to get my bags again, go through customs, border control, security, and all that lot. I sighed with relief when I reached the gate and saw my 1 hour 40 minute flight was on time. I was almost home free. Or so I thought.

I ended up sitting on the plane for 8 hours. 6 of them on the runway without friends or telephone because:

1. Technical problem and waiting for mechanic to come and fix it
2. Bumped back in the queue due to a “VIP” flight
3. Thunderstorms long and wide up and down the east coast suspending all eastbound flights
4. Storm passes through and heavy winds knock free baggage damaging some planes (not ours).
5. Waiting for runway to be cleared of debris

Scheduled arrival time in d.c.: 4pm
Actual arrival time in d.c.: midnight

The next morning I woke up and presented to my mom all the stuff I had lugged back with me from Paris sent to her by her friends. To which she said to me:

“All this stuff. Poor my friends!”