Hello, again my virtual readers.
I'm back in M, a few days into the time difference, still jet lagged and totally tête-en-air, like the person from the medicine head commercial. Or maybe the flip-top toothbrush head guy.
I arrived safely, having made the second flight to Ohio, and the continuing flight onto France. In the morning, I met three people:
1) a man who is starting a job with ComAir, who was trying to fly there for some kind of security procedure but who kept missing flights, thus delaying his start date for the job. He didn't seem to like flying stand-by, but I appreciated the fact that he had absolutely nothing with him. No carry-on bag, no horseshoe-shaped neck pillow, nothing with wheels or straps or handles or tags, not even a paperback book or crossword.
2) an American-looking man from Oklahoma wearing a baseball cap and a few days' worth of stubble, who had a deep southern drawl so thick that I nodded in feigned comprehension when he said, "I work for sdlfkjsdf and it's a slkdjfkljsdf" and had no idea what he was really saying. But I did understand the story of his trip to Maui with his wife and their $1800 plane tickets, their missed connection that he had predicted, and his disgust with airlines in general. He had accepted their bribe of some-hundred dollars and a free hotel stay in compensation for an over-sold seat the night before, and the man hates "The D" in a way that seems unfair. I tried to argue for the two blocks of really nice city, which -- I think -- is proof of future improvement, but he wasn't taking the bait.
3) a ComAir stewardess named "Deb", perfectly-curled hair and classic eye make-up, a subtle brown with specks of gold swept evenly across the eye lid, a little gold pin on the lapel of the navy-blue blazer. She surprised me with her stories, her 3 grown children, their firefighter wives and corrections officer occupations, her best friend the ex-husband and her new plan of going to Paris for her birthday. She apologized for the desertion of a woman in a wheelchair, who missed her flight because she went in search of change for a tip for the wheelchair driver instead of going right to the gate, and the consequential five-hour layover she would have to endure. But it wasn't her fault at all, and the whole thing seemed very unfair to me.
On the first plane, I sat in the window seat next to a serious-looking business man and pulled out the safety information card. Half-listening to the flight attendant's speech, all of a sudden I heard, "...the flight destined for Puerto Vallarta" and my head snapped up. She laughed, ridiculously, and continued on. "Now that I'm sure to have your undivided attention..."
She got me again later as she said something about getting drinks from the swim-up bar, and I thought that maybe this woman was once a very effective educator.
On the flight to Paris, I had the good fortune of an empty seat next to me and tried my best to sleep a bit, since the crossword was impossible and the in-flight entertainment, "The Bounty Hunter," too mind-numbing to entertain anyone. I read a bunch more of "The Winds of War" and was nearly poisoned by the cardboard/egg sandwich they flung at us at 5:30am France time.
The sweltering customs line moved painfully slowly, and a hot 1.5 hours after landing, I swiftly rejoined my luggage and my red-haired French man. A broken GPS, a bottle of Coke Zero and a map with far too little detail for reliable navigation led to an adventure in getting out of Paris. But, eventually, with a little wave to the asparagus-shaped tower in the distance, and a turn off the Porte d'Italie, we were on our way towards M, speaking jarring, sometimes-invented French and filling in the details of four and a half weeks of our separate lives.
I allowed myself a 55-minute nap, which I regretted ending so painfully I almost wished I had never indulged to begin with, and then we headed off to the grocery store. In the foreign foods aisle, I was contemplating tortillas and asking for a second opinion, which I didn't get, which made me laugh. One month isn't THAT long. And this woman said to me, "Sometimes things just aren't worth worrying about. You have the right idea," and it made me laugh even harder. We kept running into her in different aisles, full of cheese and frozen things, the vegetable section with the new ingenious item-detecting scale, and it made grocery shopping seem as fun as jet skiing or making Christmas crafts out of pipe-cleaners and plastic beads.
I am nervous and anxious and very much looking forward to school starting soon.
