The return of the prodigal � bah, never mind ...
January 06, 2003 ~ 2:55 p.m.
Alrighty kids. How the hell are you? I made it. Thanks to those of you who wished me a happy new year and a good hop back across the pond. Much appreciated. The trip back went rather smoothly, and I�ve adjusted to being back over the course of the past weekend. However, there are a few snafus that occurred that I can tell you all about.
You couldn�t tell me this on the plane?
Now I am the last guy who�s going to question airport security measures in the States. When I was at Heathrow, I had some Canadians in front of me in the security queue complaining about having to take their boots off in Chicago. Gee, how horrible, I thought. Would you prefer your plane get hijacked/blown up instead? Nice to know you�re on our side.
Anyway, I had my Caterpillar boots off, ready to put through the x-ray scanners. The man operating the machine went, �Well, well. Nice to know some people actually listen to me.�
�Hey,� I replied, �I heard you for five minutes now � �sneakers are OK; but take off your boots!��
I put my boots and my coat back on, slung my knapsack around my shoulder, and got a slice of pizza at Sbarro. I washed my hands in the lavatory and was just searching for a good seat at Gate 3 when I heard my name being called.
Would I be good enough to report to the Virgin Atlantic desk? Shit. WOULD I? How much is it worth to you?
I went up to the exit and the officer at the door greeted me with, �What�s up, Chief? Goin� out for a smoke?� I shook my head and asked him if I�d have to go through security measures after settling my affairs on the lower level. He gave me a sympathetic look. ��Fraid so, Chief.�
I found the Virgin Atlantic representative who�d called for me � �Hiya, er � what�s the problem?�
No problem, I was told. Would I mind changing a seat? You see, there was a family who could be fitted into all of row 37, so could I take a window seat in row 38?
I see. And you called me downstairs to ask me this? You couldn�t simply ask as I boarded the plane? Really, how hard would it have been? Grrr. Like everything else, they�ve got to be so damned bureaucratic about it. And by bureaucratic I mean, ensuring that I had to find out the hard way about their seating arrangement.
I plopped my boots back on the roller along with my coat and knapsack.
�Well, well�,� the operator began.
�Don�t bother,� I told him. �It�s just the return of the repressed.�
Crazy little thing called jet lag
I slept fine this weekend. Saturday morning, I arrived at the apartment, dropped my bags, romped around with the wife a bit and swiftly fell fast asleep. Didn�t clean, didn�t unpack. Didn�t do diddly-squat. Just slept.
On Sunday, it was much the same. I woke up at 4 p.m. and did some housecleaning and unpacked. I went to sleep around 11 p.m. and woke back up at 3 a.m. I could not get back to sleep. I listened to music on my headphones. I read. I fixed some tea. When all else failed, I cuddled my stuffed dragon and wept, �please, I need to sleep, I�ve got exams to supervise at nine o�-friggin�-clock!� Still, sleep would not come.
Of course, it�s jet lag. I merrily skipped five hours into the future; somewhere along the line, I just abruptly segued from Friday into Saturday � very abrupt when you consider that it was still Friday EST when I landed in London.
So naturally, last night, my body abruptly woke me up and demanded, �Hey, shithead. It�s only nine o�clock in the evening. The hell you doing in bed?�
One reason why exams will always suck ass
As a result of my failed quest for sleep, I ended up just dozing a bit, staring at a shadow-drenched ceiling and mumbling. I finally roused myself at 7:15. A little water on the face, a brush through the hair and off I went. VROOM! Nightdragon rides again.
I have talked many times about the crazy beyond crazy rush hour commute that defines London during the workweek. Well, suffice to say, nothing changed while I was away: District Line clogged at Victoria�must take Victoria Line and change to Picadilly Line, then get off at S. Kensington to take District Line to Barons Court�rush to the Charing Cross campus and announce my presence�take exams stuff over to the sports hall�bring the students in and commence the exam. Anybody know what�s missing from this scenario? That�s right. My morning rush left me no room for coffee. In fact, I had to go until bloody 2 p.m. to have my first cup of the day.
This is what it�s like every damn time there�s an exam taking place. I have learned one formula germane to my job: exams + morning x stress = no coffee.
And guess what �
It�s only Monday, peeps. Boo hiss.
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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