Holy mother of travel!
I have arrived in Oregon. The flights were all smooth. But I still hate LAX.
Get off the plane in LAX and get an “express” pass for immigration so that we could get through the line quicker. But…there was only one agent initially for the fifty of us who needed to catch flights within 1.5-2 hours of leaving the plane. Fabulous.
Got through immigration and then go to get my bags. See my first bag, no worries. Then that long “please Jesus get my bag here” prayer cycle begins. And it continues with increased strength and intensity until you realise that indeed your bag isn’t gonna make it.
You also realise you have 1 hour to clear customs, walk the whole one side length of a huge airport, check in, go through security and find your gate.
Then you can feel the tears coming.
Choke them back. Ask lady “umm, I need to find my bag, I have one hour before my flight….umm can you help me!”
“Yes, just a minute.”
(Goes and radios over to someone)
“Oh, someone accidentally picked up your bag, it’s past customs…you just have to go pick it up,”
You then hold back more tears. Curse the whole entire place of LAX. Drop bags off at transit bag place, then run. RUN the whole entire length of the domestic terminals in a sweater and jeans. Start sweating, realise your now fabulously brewed 20 hours of body odour is so pronounced you’re embarrassed…but keep running.
Check in, stand in huge security line with the beautiful smog smell of LA. Find your gate, apply deodorant, board, apologise to girl next to you for your smell. Instantly fall asleep against window of little pencil plane, drool on yourself. Fall asleep on food tray.
Arrive! See family. Apologise for smell again. Go to pick-up bags.
Wait again for bags. Realise…they ain’t there.
“Sorry love. Lots of times LAX have a back log of bags…so it’s probably not on this flight. We will bring it to you ASAP!”
“Wanna go to Old Navy?”
“How long can I think about it?”
“Ok, I need to decide if I can handle it.”
Decide I could. Bought new clothes. Realise that America is soooooooo cheap. I’m grateful that Old Navy have long length pants and get two shirts with inspiring messages on them. That’s how I roll.
Then go out for Mexican and FroYo.
Moral of the story, I still hate LAX, I love Old Navy, and FroYo is so the place for sorority girls at 9pm on a Sunday.