The seventh circle of hell looks like an airport

Hello, dear friends!

I was going to write a harrowing tale about my adventures in getting to Hamburg, but I’ve decided to be the bigger person and move beyond it.

Just kidding. Here we go!

Have you ever been to the Los Angeles Airport (LAX?) This was my first time in probably ten years and let me tell you: It’s not worth it. Just unpack your bags and stay home.

Look at how optimistic I was. I was so young then , 6 days ago.

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The Luggage:

My luggage limit was supposed to be 70 pounds for this particular venture and it was 72 pounds, naturally. Because I packed it so tightly (as one does when you’re packing your life in a bag), when I opened it to remove items from one bag to another, it was a piñata. Underwear was flying, I was sweating (that “casual airplane” jacket is wool. What was I thinking?) and I was less than thrilled having to pay 185.00 anyway because of the weird ticket I bought. No one wins!

Then, the lady hands me my luggage receipt and I put it in my pocket, assuming everything was squared away.

No, no, friends it wasn’t. Stay tuned!

The Line:

There’s not much to say about flying internationally at LAX except you have to wait in this weird, hot, Disneyland line that wraps around several corners. I was going to take a picture of the entire thing, but people were staring at me and my sweat, so I took a picture on the DL.

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I timed it, the line took an hour in a half to get through. Ew.

The Plane Ride to London:

I think it’s cruel and unusual punishment to make the economy class walk through business class to their seats. We walked through these comfortable looking nooks, with their own large screens and fancy remote controls. They were already being served drinks. Their hair looked perfect (not related, but still noteworthy). They were just “Better” and everyone walking to the dark, claustrophobic back of the plane knew it.

We were served the usual “plane” food, but I am not going to complain about that. I’m going to complain about the turbulence. Oh LORD, the turbulence. The icky plane food sloshing around my stomach as I tried to watch literally anything on mini, short circuiting TV made me extremely nauseous. Eventually, desperate to focus on something, I grabbed my baggage receipt.

“London to Prague” it said.

What.

LONDON TO PRAGUE

What.

I thought my nausea was deceiving me. Was I having a nightmare? I’m going to Hamburg, yet my luggage wants to go to Prague? WHY, LUGGAGE, WHY. I went to the back of the plane to talk to a fight attendant. She said I need to immediately talk to a ticketing agent when I get off the plane so they can divert my bag. My life, my 70 pound bag filled with my life, was hopping to another country without me.

When the loudspeaker said “ten minutes until landing, fasten your seatbelts” I started sweating again. This time the sweat worsened into something else. I unbuckled and ran to the bathroom.

“Go back to your seat, ma’am”, the flight attendant said.

“I can’t,” I said, from the bathroom. Throwing up all over the place. My clammy hand grasped the tiny handle for dear life.

“Then you better hold on.” She said.

And that was the first, and hopefully only time I spend in an airplane bathroom when they were landing. Certainly is a candidate for the top ten worst experiences of my life.

Is there a happy ending?

Yes. My luggage miraculously made it to Hamburg. The lady just gave me some dudes ticket by mistake.

Alyssa found me and fed me and mercifully put a soft filter on her phone to show me safe and less sickly looking in Hamburg.

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Until next time.

Nauseously yours,

Sarah

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The seventh circle of hell looks like an airport

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