I left TW on the coast eating street sausage and set off south. My shoes were ready to die. Man, they were the tits. Two red and gold, motherfuckers... anyway. I was going back down to the big city, which spiraled at the bottom of a cluster of dark green mountains. A five-mile underground tunnel took me back into the metropolis. There was no rain but the car windows were wet from condensation. The whole city felt like being in a bath. I could feel the steam rolling off the peaks and onto my head. It made me feel dumb and tired, which was good preparation for my return to London.
I slept in a capsule in an expensive hostel, and thought, what a clever bit of marketing that it's now 'cool' to stay in a tiny box. Everything I had was with me in there, and I crumpled up in the corner and listened to American varsity blockheads talk sincerely to each other about 'ass' all night. I tried my best to find things to do the next day before my evening flight. I walked two miles one way, then the other. I looked up a place to eat and walked there, only to find it was inside an enourmous shopping mall, and it was all a mock-up, made to look old and weathered. The food was expensive and small, and the waiter scowled when I ordered the cheapest two items on the menu. I knew I had $250 left to get myself to the airport and then from JFK in New York to the airport in New Jersey. This seemed like plenty, but in the case of a hiccup I'd need a decent wedge to pay for an extra night on the way. In place of anything to do I meticulously planned my transfer. JFK to Newark would take an hour and a half. I had two hours to make it. I decided against the subway - it would be four in the morning and I had no bearings in NYC. A cab would be better. Maybe I'd even have time to pick up a McDonald's. I made a folder in my phone and saved all my boarding passes and other documents, like the immigration form I would need to leave the country.
I left the hostel four hours before my flight. The taxi ride took around forty minutes, and the driver was not chatty. I felt solid, well planned, like a businessman going through the motions of his usual international engagements. I stepped out of the car into the busy street outside the airport. The driver slowly pulled away, and I went to pull out my phone and check my gate time. My phone. My phone is on the seat of the taxi. MY PHONE IS IN THE CAB. I sprinted towards the car, which was still in the drop-off area outside, and it sped up. I must have done a hundred meters behind it before I began to cough and splutter. I let it go. I talked to myself at full volume and paced around. My tickets, the times and terminals of the flights, and my immigration papers only existed in the folder on my phone. A family stopped me and asked what was wrong. I tried to explain in bad Spanish. No joy. Mi telefona es perdido. I tried calling the cab driver from the mother's phone but it went to the main office. They would return my lost property in 1-2 weeks where possible. Great. I didn't know my own number, as I got the SIM changed to a cheap travel one on arrival. I went to the help desk and asked if I could sign into my email account so I could see all my documents, but I couldn't do it because I had to verify my identity by text message.
My anxiety at this point was so high it felt like I was in a room with a huge swinging blade that could cut me in half at random. I dodged and ducked appropriately, which made me look even more suspicious and deranged. Eventually came the call for my gate. With no hope whatsoever I decided to go through the motions a real person would, a person who had tickets and immigration papers. For some sinister reason I was the only person in the entire customs section that evening. It was the opposite of what I had bargained for. The only slim chance I'd make it through would be if I blended in with some large group of idiot gringos travelling my way. Well, what did I have to lose. At least if they detained me I'd have somewhere to sleep. I tried to look relaxed as I walked up to the two people at the bag scanner.
Evening.
Good evening, sir.
Trundling noises. Electrical buzzing.
You are from...?
England, London.
Ahhh, London! I like to learn about geography, my family living in Derby, Nottingham. I been to Leeds also.
Oh, wow! Midlands, yeah.
...
An' Scotlan', what the capital is there? Glasgow?
Edinburgh.
Edeen...brurj...
Edinburgh, yeah.
The guy was taking notes in a little book. He'd done a sketch of the UK with place names written on it. He was a genuine geography enthusiast. Liberpool... Manchesterrr... Jork...
I picked up my bag, smiling now, and showed my passport at the desk. I was buzzing. I sauntered towards the departure lounge -
SIR!
My breathing stopped. I was dead, I was done for.
What is capital of Irelan'?
I turned and smiled weakly.
Dublin.
No comments:
Post a Comment