Ok so I procrastinated. Friday morning rolled around and I hadn’t packed or done laundry. At about 2pm it started to get a little too real. I scrambled to pack and to get anything I needed from the store. I made a reservation for a cab to pick me up at 7:45. I did a little tidying up, loved on the cat and at 7:45 I went outside to wait for my taxi. The trains to the airport were leaving at 8:15 and 8:35. I figured I would at worst catch the second.
At 8:00 I called the cab place to see that they were still coming. I had to dial three times before I spoke with an operator. He told me 10 minutes. Which meant I’d probably miss the first train. But that was fine.
Neighbors walked in and out of their houses as I placed with my backpack and my carry on- anxious to get the show on the road. As each car passed I imagined what I would say to the rat bastard driver that was hindering my trip’s progress. Would I really pay for a cab that was 40 minutes late?
45 minutes after it was supposed to arrive (schumanator is still standing out front) I called the company again, fresh out of patience. I said: I HAD A RESERVATION FOR 7:45. YOU ARE NOW 45 MINUTES LATE. I HAVE A PLANE TO CATCH- I NEED TO KNOW- ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?
He said, I’m sorry miss, we are very busy. I thought I had a cab for you, but I do not. Let me give you a number….
I cut him off to say NO. Thank you but no thank you, Good Day Sir (ok, all but the last part)
So this is enough to make me cry for sure. My closest friend would take at least 20 minutes to get to my place. So I did the only thing I could do. I started knocking on my neighbor’s doors.
1st a young couple about Jon and I’s age. No answer.
Then, the cat people’s house. They often sit in front of their place supervising their cats outdoor time. He sings in Yiddish and sometimes plays a small horn I’ve never seen before. When we moved in they had a cat named Farfal. Since we didn’t know their names we just called them Mr and Mrs Farfal. (We do know their names now).
Luckily Mrs Farfal was home. Fighting the frustration tears I asked her if she would mind taking me to the train station (only about a 5 minute drive). She said she would right away and I was SO grateful. I really didn’t know any other neighbor well enough to ask.
I got to the train and caught the 9:10- 1 hour 20 minutes before my flight. Having never taken BART by myself, let alone to the airport it was all a little stressful. Once I got to SFO I had to hop on the tram to get to the domestic terminal and for a second I thought I got on the one going the wrong way- I very nearly got off and headed the other direction. Luckily I didn’t because my stop was next.
I had about 10 minutes to wait at the gate, then it was time to board. My tickets were business so I sat in the first row. The flight attendants called me by name and by the middle of the flight I finally relaxed.
We landed around 11:45pm. I caught the shuttle to the airport hotel I was staying at- To my surprise it felt a little bit nicer than I had expected. I got into my room at about 12:45 and spoke to Jon on the phone (it was 9:45 am where he was) took a shower and went to bed at about 1:30.
So when my alarm clock went off 4 hours later I thought I would puke from tiredness. I caught the shuttle and went straight to the airport and straight to my gate. My flight was on time and the business seats on this plane were ridiculous! They were like laz-e-boys. But laz-e-boys with televisions and stereos built in. This is essentially what I would be doing at home on a Saturday, so in a way “killing time” was not really a factor. On the tv screen I could look at a map that showed where the plane was, how far it had gone and how many miles were left. I landed in Washington DC and had about a thirty minute layover- everyone in the gate was Dutch! Yesh, Dutch! And I got very excited for the last leg of my journey across the Atlantic.
