Unorganized Passport Drama

Here I am, sitting at the Shannon, Ireland Airport for a quick, but annoying layover from London to Boston. After a 4-hour sleep on Gen and Pete’s Futon, I was escorted to the Heathrow express train (more expensive than the tube, but so worth it to not wake up 2 hours earlier). Gen and Mikey said their “see ya soon” s to me and I sat down with my suitcases for a relaxing 15-minute trip to the airport.

Oh wait, that’s not what happened at all. Actually, as the doors to the train closed, I sat down and double checked my purse for my passport and realized I still had Mikey’s passport with me. Not a big deal, I’ll just mail it to him or something…but of course it’s not that simple. This wouldn’t be my life if I didn’t have to pay MASSIVLY for my idiot mistakes. It would be the life I wish I had, the one where I was always on time, organized, well dressed and immune to bad breath. But I’ve given up on those things by now. Mikey’s flight to Boston is taking off as I write this, and hopefully he is on it. He is flying from Gatwick, an airport miles outside of the city, nowhere near Heathrow, the airport I flew from.

So what the fuck does one do when they have to not only check them self in and get on their own flight in the allotted 2 hours, but also some how get a passport back to Edgeware road in central London for the equally irresponsible other half?

I rang Mikey in a panic after I’d already checked in and gone through security. He hadn’t realized the situation until I called. Don’t be surprised. Our first solution was to have him get on the damn express train and come pick it up, but that meant I would have to leave my gate and wait for him to arrive (30 min at the least) and hand it over. None of the airport personnel wanted to be held responsible, so no one else would do the deed. This wasn’t going to work, because I would miss my flight waiting for him and going back through security again.

Next Plan, send it back to the apartment in a taxi. So I leave the gate, its now 9am and I’m really hoping that I can make it back through security and to my gate in time for my 10:10 flight. I ran outside, my gigantic bag on my arm, looking like a crazy person who hasn’t changed her socks in 3 weeks or showered in days. I had to walk up the line of taxis, asking them to do me the favor, but was denied by 3. I decided I would run back inside, go to the ATM and take out 50 pounds to bribe the drivers with (they didn’t like the idea of mikey paying them when they got there). I tried a new driver, who looked reluctant until I said I’d pay him up front. He said it would be 50 and I forked over the cash. His name was Bob and he promised he’s get it to Mikey urgently.

I gave Bob the address and our mobile number to ring Mikey once he was out side. I had left the phone with Mikey per chance I would need to ring him once I’d left. I guess I had a prophetic vision that something like this would happen, or more like an experienced knowledge it would. As Bob drove off, I took down his cab number, as if that will help if he decided not to deliver the thing.

I ran back into the airport and made it through security a second time to my gate. They hadn’t started boarding yet and I tried to grab a bite to eat at the only café in a 20 minute walking distance from my gate. Of course the only thing on the vegan menu was a banana and a bottle of water. Disappointed and slightly angry about the lack of consideration for some of the most considerate people, I found a pay phone and rang mikey. It was 9:45 at this point and he still hadn’t gotten the Passport. I needed to board so we said goodbye, Mikey sitting on the stoop in the cold and me stressed out, needing to pee but didn’t have time, boarding a shitty flight to Ireland.

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