Saturday, January 7, 2012

30 Hours Later and Airport Rest Rooms

Folks I have arrived! I am in fact back on the shores of the United States. I should be like super uber over the moon, when really I'm just tired. I also seem to be in the midst of the hugest craving EVAH for rice. I must be homesick, get it, laugh out loud, home sick. Technically, being back in the country of my birth, I AM home.

I do in fact miss Japan already, not because it's the best rice in the world, but because I have grown some attachments that I didn't realize I had. My tattoo artist for one, the two who work out of La Vida Loca are truly some great people. My home of course, I'd spent months between times at sea making it just right only to pack it up and come back stateside. Of course the beach I lived up the hill from. It was the greatest place to look at on a windy day. Wind Surfers everywhere I loved it.

The dream is over and what better way to close out a chapter in one's life than to have a very very VERY awkward moment in a public restroom.

I just collected a multitude of luggage from international claims. Not a bathroom in sight for what seemed miles of supper slippery flooring.  When I finally get to the shuttle pick up station. I begged some other Sailor to watch my bag while I go relieve myself. I'm happy so I thought. No I start thinking about how long I've been in these clothes. Comfy as they are, they smell like airline food, jet fuel (I had a wing seat), baby poo, and three day old cookies. I have to get out of these clothes.

Back in to the ladies room again. While I'm changing into another set of sweats, a woman starts talking. At first I thought maybe she was talking to someone but then no one responded. She was clearly distressed by her tone. It became clear that she was on a phone. Why she was using it in the stall, is not my business.

Whom ever she was talking to was not very helpful and upset her even more. Apparently she had no intention of flying to Seattle. She did not understand how she got there and was also suffering from some leg injury. The only thing that came to mind was this woman was ill (in the head) and she has to have an emergency contact.

The lady went on to request to the person on the line to call the police to have them come get her. Well good on you lady for at least knowing your in a bad way. The rep on the phone (the turd) was not trying to do that. She explained to person unknown (PU from now on) that she'd been there since last night. She told PU that her leg was hurting which is why she never left.

What an odd place to plant yourself!!! But hey if you're hurt, you're hurt.  I'm obviously just being nosey, but I want to help. So when I come out my stall stinky clothes under my arm, I'm greeted my a TSA agent who just happened to be washing her hands. Homegirl had her music up so loud on her I-pod that she couldn't have heard what's going on in the last stall. ** You know it's always the last stall. Why the last stall why not the middle one or the first?-  Out goes the TSA agent completely oblivious. The Chunky Cow, I bet she couldn't chase a Twinkie if it ran right into her. (I wonder if this is what guys mean when women talk about other women?).

Poor lady is STILL arguing about police assistance with PU. Finally I just went looking for a different TSA agent. I told them that was a woman on her phone in the bathroom begging someone to call the police. Who do they get to go int here to check it out? You guessed it, Chunky Cow. Thighs rubbing in cheap polyester pants and still blasting I-pod. (That wasn't nice was it? My thighs rub too. Shame face!)

By the time my shuttle came they still had  not  moved this poor woman!

This is what I'm coming home too!!!
I don't have enough FAIL stickers on me to pin point how this situation was handled poorly.

This makes me want to call my parents. I think I'll buy them each one of those Identifier bracelets. My parent aren't feeble. God willing they never become feeble. Still, I'd have to live with some serious guilt moving to San Diego when they live back in Boston and they needed me.

Of course that's my co-dependent self speaking. I KNOW it's my duty to take care of my parents when they no longer can take care of themselves. The problem was that I've been attempting to do that my whole life.

So if they said "T I'm getting too sick I think I have to go into a home." What would I do? Am I a bad daughter for not offering to help? Or will I use it as an excuse to look like a saint while simultaneously never achieving my full potential???

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