Friday Dec. 23
In my years at UMass, living in Boston and my love for travel I’ve grown accustomed to early morning flights, packing at the last minute, getting no sleep and trying to function whilst hungover, tired or sick. My trip home to Minnesota for Christmas was no different.
I spent Thursday night celebrating the holiday season. What better way to kick off a four day weekend than consuming bevys and apps at a local establishment with coworkers? Well, I did just that. We went to a pub near work for our department’s Christmas party. Naturally after two beers I was semi intoxicated (clearly my tolerance I worked so hard at building at UMass has failed to keep up). We left the pub at around 9 p.m. or so — most people who had to get up at 3:30 a.m. the next day and hadn’t packed would probably go home.
Not me.
I continued on to another bar and proceeded to take one of the last trains home. I got home shortly after midnight. I made myself some tator tots to hopefully soak up the alcohol and packed. I slept for maybe one hour before my alarm blared in my ear and it was time to wake up.
I showered, struggled to get dressed, finished throwing miscellaneous things into my suitcase and I was off — in the pouring rain (wtf Boston) — to Logan Airport.
Upon my arrival I made my way to security with my mobile boarding pass (if you haven’t done it, do it. It’s cool. People think you’re magic). As I was waiting in line I quickly put my boots and laptop inside a gray bin, put my coat in my suitcase and lined up my belongings to go through the x-ray.
At this point — especially two days before Christmas — most people my age have flown on an airplane. The man, in his 20s, in front of me clearly doesn’t fly a lot or is a complete idiot. I literally think he decided packing his belongings in his cargo jeans was a great idea. He had to scoop out piles of coins from his pockets, he had a camera in there, a phone, a wallet, gosh, he probably had toys too. Mind you, it’s 5:50 a.m. at this point. It’s not like he’s been frolicking around Boston all day gathering change and putting it in his pockets prior to the flight. He was sleeping. He got up and thought to himself, ‘Yep, I’m flying. I can’t have anything in my pockets but I’m going to take my entire change jar and divide it up between all of my pockets so everyone behind me can wait while I take the coins out one by one and put them into the dish.’
He was taking so long the TSA agent nearly reached in his pockets to help him gather his obnoxious little items. I’m surprised the TSA agent didn’t turn him upside down and dump it out on the floor — too bad life isn’t a cartoon because that SO would have happened.
After my lengthy wait through the x-ray line I made my hike through the terminal in a search for a gatorade to cure my I’m-still-kind-of-drunk-but-this-will-be-a-hangover-any-minute feeling. Did you know that no where in Terminal A at Boston Logan International Airport has Gatorade? Fact. Not even a strawberry-kiwi Focus Vitamin Water.
Major fail Logan, major fail. Help a girl out. I expect next time I arrive you provide me with the hangover cure I need. Also, provide more dairy-free breakfast sandwich options (okay, I know that’s a long shot — I’ll settle for the Gatorade).
After rummaging through my suitcase to contemplate eating part of my sister’s birthday present I realized numerous things I forgot to pack. Again, I’m a seasoned traveler — as you can tell by my I’m-so-annoyed-with-you post about the change-in-the-pockets dude — but packing while highly intoxicated clearly isn’t the best way to go. I have no warm clothes. Zilch. I have a rain coat. No sweaters, no socks, no mittens, nothing. I’m going to Minnesota. It’s December. Fail. I also realized I completely forgot pajamas, a toothbrush, underwear and my glasses. Hopefully I remembered my contacts (yes, I’m typing this blind because I plan on sleeping on the airplane. Want to know what’s not fun? Waking up after sleeping on an airplane with your eyelids sealed closed because your contacts have fused everything together.)
Time to board the plane. I hope you enjoyed my tired, hungover, rant. Stay tuned for an anecdote on how I will attempt to turn my family’s Christmas dinner dairy free. Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.