Back to my arrival here. I had an absurd journey (you might have already followed some details on Facebook, I had a bit of free time on my hands). My flight from Indy was at 6:30 am so I spent the entire night before that packing and cleaning my room. We left the house around 4:30. The flight was fine (I think...I passed out almost immediately. I even missed my complementary drink which I'm still upset about, haha) but the airplane was soo small. It couldn't have been more than 8 feet wide. There were two rows, one with 2 seats and the other with only one. That small. Looked like a model airplane.
I arrived in Miami around 9am.
Miami! If you look closely, it's the coast :) It was beautiful.
We ended up waiting on the plane for about 45 minutes just waiting to taxi & for the attendants to unload our carry ons. The plane was so small that we had to check almost all of our small carry on luggage because there was no overhead space. So anyways the baggage guys come out to the plane and all of us watched as they unloaded our carry-on items. The two Miami-ans were young men who clearly hated their jobs and perhaps their entire lives. They, therefore, had no respect for our belongings. The worst was this little burgundy carry-on that the guy literally picked up and chucked towards the top shelf of the luggage cart. Surprisingly enough it missed, flew over the rack, and landed three feet away. He begrudgingly walked over, picked it up, tossed it up without looking again, and watched it teeter on the edge. He decided that was secure enough and went back to the other bags. 2 seconds later it fell at least 8 feet off the cart again back on to the ground. Everyone on the plane was watching this occur like a close football game, moaning and shouting, "OHH! that's gotta hurt!! Sucks for whoever's luggage that is!!"
It was mine. I watched every freaking throw, fall, roll, tumble, and bashing while listening to everyone else adding their own play-by-play commentary. Even more embarrassing was the fact that everyone was eagerly watching to see which unfortunate person would claim the battered bag because it was still teetering on the edge & they figured it would fall again. I hesitantly claimed my bag, head down, and rolled it away, just thankful that the wheels still worked.
I got inside and there were no directions telling where to go for connecting flights, or where to go to recheck your luggage. I drug my sad carryon to the nearest desk and asked for help. The attendants, both Hispanic, took my boarding pass and tag-teamed my questions on the computer. They cheerfully informed me that my luggage would automatically be transferred all the way through (unless Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky bag basher got his angry hands on it) and my connecting flight was at gate D11. Then they both got a very familiar look on their face, a look that I've seen many times before...a look of severe sympathy for bad news & simultaneous disbelief of how unlucky I am (it's the same look my students give me when I break the news to them that I don't have a boyfriend...I'm used to it)
"um, well the thing is your flight doesn't leave until this evening, at 6:30pm..."
I know this chicas. I do have my itinerary haha. I tried to humor them & thanked them for the help.
So I start walking to my gate. I walk and walk and walk and walk & finally reach my gate around 10. I like to think of it as Devine intervention, but my gate was located in between Starbucks, Hagen Daaz, Wendy's, and Jose Cuervo's Tequileria.
My first stop? Wanna make bets?
Starbucks. Duh. I needed coffee to stay alert so that nobody stole my beaten up carry on. I bought a Cosmo & 24 hours of Internet so I could have something to do for my 9 hour layover.
The first thing I noticed was that I already felt like I was in Madrid. The entire airport was filled with Hispanics! I thought about skipping my 9 hour layover, skipping my 9 hour transatlantic flight, and just freelancing translation down there.
2 hours later I realized the gate where I had set up camp, in front of Starbucks, was a flight headed to Guatemala. That explained the abundance of Latin Americans. Face palm.
So I read my Cosmo, candidly...the articles can be a bit colorful and some creepass behind me kept looking over my shoulder...
The best part about a 9 hour layover in an airport (there aren't many) especially in Miami, has to be the people watching. Bleach blonde Hispanics (dark skin, bleached hair), countless people wearing shirts that say MIAMI across the front (or sweatpants with MIAMI across the ass), and finally a large Cuban man (I assume, his shirt said CUBA) with a little chihuahua. I'm not positive that having a chihuahua was legal, but because it was the only dog in the airport, and so small, everyone stared at him, nudging their friends and pointing, "look! Isn't he soo cute??"
While everyone was swooning over the dog, and the large Cuban was strutting proudly and tall, basking in the attention of his popular accessory (the image was pretty ironic...300 lb Cuban man, 2 lb chihuahua)...the chihuahua stopped.
And in the fashion of most people who use pets for accessories, the Cuban did not pay attention to his dog and simply dragged it along behind him (slick tile floors...the chihuahua didn't stand a chance.)
Most dog owners know where this is going. When dogs stop, they are usually smelling for pee, or they themselves have to pee.
Little ChiChi (I named the dog) started to hunch his back. Turns out he didn't have to pee after all, he had to go #2.
So. while being drug on the linoleum, with over 200 people watching, ChiChi crapped, in a trail, all along the airport floor.
The 200+ watchers all gasped & pointed laughing at poor ChiChi and bringing it to the attention of everybody they could reach. Large Cuban (let's call him Juan) and ChiChi had reached the moving sidewalk, but a kind couple tapped on Juan's shoulder and brought it to his attention that ChiChi had left a little present behind. Apparently Juan is a real dick and completely ignored them, quickly walking away (as quick as a large man can walk). So we all stared at the poop, which was like watching a train wreck because a.) nobody wanted to clean it up, b.) we all wanted to punch smug Juan in his crap-lousy face, and c.) not all of the traveling passengers saw ChiChi doing his business, so everybody was kicking the poop, stepping on it, and trailing it throughout MIA.
Eventually the crowd died down, and ChiChi's leftovers were being avoided. Finally one of the flight attendants at my gate noticed and yelled to one of the security guards to pick it up. The funny thing was she yelled it in Spanish, trying to be more tactful. Apparently she hadn't realized that she was surrounded by Hispanics who understood everything when she yelled "EH! DIEGO! A DAMNED DOG SHAT ON THE FLOOR OVER THERE! LOOK! DO YOU SEE? THATS A SMALL PILE OF SHIT RIGHT THERE! YEAH, A DOG SHAT ON THE FLOOR AND NOW PEOPLE ARE WALKING THROUGH IT."
Diego, being a security guard, was above picking up doggie doo doo, so he grabbed one of the luggage carts and placed it over the poop.
Actual photo.
This was an improvement to the situation, for sure, until about 30 minutes later, when an older man thought that fate was smiling upon him and had left him an empty luggage cart. So he took the poop shield, kicking it around as he walked off. Finally, an hour after that, the cleaning lady came with her broom and swept it up. Unfortunately she didn't see the last piece that somebody had tracked over by the moving sidewalk. That remained there until I left, and may or may not still be there as you read this. So here's to ChiChi for leaving his mark on Miami, and hoping that someday he can get away from that asshole Juan. I'm hoping that karma will come around and get him some commercials with Taco Bell.
I eventually made my flight to Madrid. Remember my last post where I said I liked the aisle so I can pee when I want? Still applied. I sat in a window seat (because this stupid flight charged $35 for "preferred seats" aka aisle seats) next to an unfriendly Spanish women who may or may not have been both pregnant and anorexic. She had a minimal bump, but was very very thin. And refused to eat anything on the flight. She made me nervous so I went all 9 hours without peeing. It was okay though because I slept most of the time anyways.
So I get to Madrid, pee, make it through customs (even though my green card had expired) and went to get my luggage. And I waited. And I waited. 40 minutes later I almost had a small panic attack (again, remember last year?) I kept thinking to myself "don't freak out...if you don't have your luggage, you'll get it eventually. Don't cry. Plus you know it was that screw-up shitbag in Miami that threw your carry-on, so you already know who to blame. Seriously don't cry. Think about your satin sheets! Zebra print satin sheets. And hot Spanish men. Ok for serious DO NOT CRY."
On top of that, soooomebody forgot to come get me at the airport. I won't name names but it rhymes with Hamuel and starts with an S. I didn't know this though, so I texted as much as I could until I ran out of money on my phone & prayed he hadn't left due to my delays (we had already arrived an hour late anyways). It also didn't help I was in terminal 4, and hardly any flights come in through terminal 4. Deep down, I knew that all of these conflicts were going to result in me being alone at the airport.
Finally my bag appeared. Magically. I grabbed my crap and rushed through the gates. Nobody there. I did a few laps with my cart, accidentally hit a few people in my anxious pacing, but eventually came to terms with the fact that I was alone. I tried to pick up a wifi signal to get ahold of somebody on Facebook, but that didn't work either. I knew that if I tried to take the Metro, with two suitcases and a carry-on, I would have some sort of post traumatic stress flash back to last year and probably have an anxiety attack . So with satin sheets and happy thoughts in mind, I walked aimlessly weighing my options.
DON'T CRY. YOU ARE NOT A CUTE CRIER.
I found a little hub with two computers where you could get on the Internet. Luckily a guy was just getting off so I hopped on, preparing to get raped by the airport prices. I put in one euro and got 18 minutes! Still rape, but at the time I only needed 2 minutes and felt like the storm was finally passing.
About an hour later, around noon, I decided I needed to look for other people to help me. I called my friend Rebecca and luckily she had gotten into Madrid early and was cleaning her new apartment. She tried to hurry to help me but I was calm as a cucumber once I knew that help was on the way. I took my time going to the bathroom, sat at the little airport coffee shop playing Hearts on my new iPhone (p.s. That's literally what I did for the majority of my time in Miami...reprogram my iPhone. Tim found a 3G on eBay for cheap because the top button that makes it sleep doesn't work. Funny thing is when I landed from Indy, the button worked!) I did have to tolerate a noisy child next to me, who I nicknamed DJ Biggie Smalls because he insisted on clapping, smacking or beating on any thing nearby with a solid surface, and playing his Arabic techno music at full volume from his cell phone while singing. His dad was wearing headphones so he didn't give a shit anyways. I think he was maybe 11 or 12, old enough to not be cute enough to do that crap in public, plus he was dressed like he belonged in a gang, with pants at his knees and an XXXL shirt.
Rebecca finally came and I'm finally settling in. If only I could sleep, that'd be the cherry on the cake. This weekend I get to go to a pool party! I'm excited to swim. And meet new friends. I know I sound like I'm five but I'm just that excited. Will update soon. :)
I'm working on a tagline to end my blog, so it has a definitive goodbye. For now, I think, I will just re-warn America to watch out for ChiChi's shit. It could be anywhere.
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