So, of all the stuff we each brought–in my case, about 3100 cubic inches’ worth–there were really only 3 things that were really important–things that couldn’t be foregone or just bought in Europe–our passports, plane tickets, and eurail passes.
Inevitably, one of us would forget one of those things. Almost as inevitably, that person was me.
We left Appleton at around 12:15 pm and got to O’Hare with plenty of time to check in, get seated together, and convince the person working the check-in counter that our massive backpacks would in fact fit in the overhead compartment (and they did. sort of).
We got through security and settled in on the floor at our gate (M16–the boys were thrilled) to play cards. However, when I moved to put my plane tickets in my manila envelope marked “very important,” I realized something was missing–namely, the envelope.
Eek.
It turned out that I had left that envelope–which contained my Eurail pass along with a few copies of my passport and some bus tickets–on my bed in Appleton.
Well, in the end it worked out, but boy, you can always count on Murphy’s law…
* * * * *
The plane ride has been fairly uneventful: We took off on time, for once in the history of ever; and I started off watching “Brick,” which is sort of hard to follow when you a) are on an airplane and b) have the attention span of a five-year-old. So I switched to Spongebob Squarepants and playing Mario Bros and ate a pretty decent dinner.
We all finally fell asleep a few hours in, and we were well on our way to not being horribly jetlagged when…
The Screaming Baby is a plague on all air travelers: There’s nothing you can do about it; and it’s incredibly annoying.
The culprit on our plane was a little girl who was probably old enough to know better. And she was LOUD, and cried for a very long time.
And, you know, I did feel bad for the mother–there wasn’t much she could do, either, and she had to juggle trying to console her kid and returning the annoyed glances of all the passengers within earshot (read: the entire plane).
I was not one of the “angry glare” passengers, despite the fact that I was tired; irritable; and about five feet away from the kid. I find that I can make myself pretty zen about that kind of thing by reminding myself that when my ancestors came to America on the boat; they had to contend with Screaming Babies–and CHOLERA–for seven WEEKS instead of seven hours:
…except that those weren’t my ancestors. Mostly mine flew over post-World War II, and the rest got here well after the invention of the motor.
Still; it sorta worked.
to be continued (this keyboard sucks; which is why there’s so much bad punctuation)
–Amanda