Some of you will recall the more concise version of this tale, Status Updates and an eventual Facebook Note at the time somewhat covered the essentials:
From My Facebook Notes:
Nicole's Worst Nightmare
Saturday, June 13, 2009 at 10:59am
If you haven't read the Status Update, my venture from LA to NY has turned out like this:
2 hours sleep, hunger, whirlwind shuttle ride, nausea, no luggage trolley, 70 minute check-in line, delayed flight, missed connection, [met a celebrity, more later,] lack of assistance, 90 minute customer service line, starvation, thirst, lack of cash, crap customer service, lost luggage, no flights, no accommodation, strapped finances, more crap customer service, dodgy payphone [Camp America couldn't hear me], flight booked to Providence [near my Camp but couldn't contact camp], stupidly packed laptop power cord in lost luggage, no internet, expensive airport internet, found dodgy accommodation, shuttle to accommodation, expensive internet, phone not working, collapse into a puddle of tears, blubbering international call to sister, expensive internet prices, long shower, 11 hours sleep, breakfast finished 2 hours earlier than sign says...
Anyhow, have hung out at the hotel all day catching up on things. The up side is that my Camp are thoroughly wonderful and will pick me up at Providence airport Saturday morning. Phew.
So the blog is somewhat of a lost cause right now, sorry. Hoping for internet access at Fuller, but remember I currently have no power cord and so I'm at the mercy of others.
Wish me luck... still have to get my luggage found and transported from JFK airport to my camp... *sigh*
Truly my worst nightmare.
Honest to blog, this was actually and literally my worst nightmare prior to departing on my travels. I had genuine bad dreams about missing planes, losing luggage, etc etc.
So, for those that care, here's the Ultimate Extended Edition:
Tony was kind enough to get up and see me off at sparrowfart, I was kind enough to make him carry some of my luggage.
My shuttle driver was unfortunately and annoyingly chatty for 8am in the morning. While his friendly foreigner-enthusiastic endeavours at passing the heavy LA traffic unscenic airport drive by asking me every cliche Australian trivia question he could possibly come up with was somewhat appreciated, having gotten little to no sleep the night before (self-inflicted, I know), it certainly wasn't welcome.
Also unwelcome was LAX's Departures Terminal charging for the use of their luggage trolleys. How rude. Deciding that was a rip off, I opted to cut off my nose to spite my face and dragged my ample (though far less ample than most, I now know) luggage around. Lucky it wasn't far to the end of the 70-minute-long-wait Check-in line. Wahoo.
I sweated the entire 70 minutes that they were going to smack me with a huge fee for my extra luggage. I'd checked several times what United's domestic baggage allowances were, but the signs in the queue (NB: not a word Americans use, apparently, expect a blank stare and a "Huh?" if you use it) seemed to contradict my confidence that I wouldn't need to pay.
I almost had to until the guy at the counter said "Oh, you've flown in internationally?" checking my passport and Qantas ticket inside, "no problem, you're fine". So I guess being an international tourist gives you a free pass for copious luggage. Sweeeeet.
After the most inconvenient security check I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing, the highlight of this whole frightful nightmare took place. I had thrice perved on a hot young guy that had walked back and forwards from a couple that were obviously his parents before I realised that his face seemed familiar.
I probably hadn't noticed this sooner because, sitting as I was, my eye level was right in line with his absolutely smoking hot ass. Oh, he was wearing a hat too, I'm sure that contributed.
For the life of me though, I couldn't place his face (or his top notch butt). I had to assume he was probably a B-list celebrity of some description, 1) because I was in LA and 2) because he was decked out like a snazzy small-time star. i.e. flatteringly fitted camo pants, flatteringly fitted plain tee and a tipped newsboy cap with hair that, even covered by a stylish hat, was obviously well cut and coloured.
I later decided it was the haircut that threw me off, maybe with the added distraction of that ridiculously attractive set of buns. I spent the better part of my time at the gate trying to figure out who the heck this fella was.
It was upon feeling jealous of all the laptop nerds at my gate that I first realised I had thoughtlessly packed my laptop power cord in my checked baggage. Insert [several] expletives here. Bill Nighy's line in Love Actually springs to mind.
See 0:55 for referenced Billy Nighy's "Billy Mack" character line
Even so, I didn't necessarily think I'd be needing it much being that I was to fly out of LA momentarily and land in New York after a few short stopovers. No sweat... and no need for a laptop right?
My laptop battery is absolutely useless, so after half an hour of unsuccessfully attempting to pick up an unsecured wi-fi connection, I was almost out of charge. Reading was less fun than I usually find it, being squished into an uncomfortable seat in the overcrowded gate lounge. Miserable.
You can imagine then how truly thrilled I was to hear that my LA to San Francisco flight was delayed. Excellent. It was almost certain I would miss my connection from San Fran to Washington/Dulles, which basically guaranteed I would miss my Washington to New York connection too. Great. I approached the desk and explained this inevitable crisis and allowed my naivete to happily accept the United lady's instructions to board the flight and worry about my connection at the other end.
Big mistake. Big. HUGE.
I was momentarily distracted from my panic while finally boarding the aircraft: Hottie McNice-Ass and his company were directly in front of me. This allowed me to overhear his parents speaking in their obviously Australian accents and to see that Mr McNice-Ass was carrying a script. That narrowed down it down a bit: Australian actor with a small-time career in America.
I still couldn't quite knuckle it down but figured it was likely he was "Neighbours" or "Home & Away" alumnus. Neither show have ever been much to my liking, but still, I couldn't ever recall there being anyone remotely that attractive on either soapie. It was driving me crazy!
It turned out we were in the same row of the tiny plane, the second to last row no less. Hottie and his olds took up the three seats on one side while I was in one of the other three seats opposite. As I tried in vain to find space to stow my carry-on where there was none, the mystery man obviously noticed my peril and said "there's still space further back up, let me take it for you", which he did.
When he finally managed to wedge his way back to our corner of the plane he explained where he had squeezed my bag to which I responded with acknowledgement and thanks: "Oh! You're Australian, great!" he says, followed by other typical 'So we're from the same country' cliches. He eventually says "It's great meeting you, I'm Ryan".
Kwanten. Right. Now I've got it.
The new and improved version of Ryan I met
I was on the money: "Home & Away" star who has found some minor fame in The States on a TV series called "Summerland".
The cast of "Summerland", including Ryan, Zac and Jesse
I never knew the name of the show until looking it up just now, but I vaguely recalled seeing an episode of it randomly on TV once upon a time and noting "Yo, there's that Aussie guy on an American version of "Home & Away" with Jesse McCartney and a young Zac Efron". Another funny coincidence in hindsight, he's currently making it big on "True Blood". That damn show is stalking me.
I was now baffled not only by what a thoroughly lovely individual Ryan was, but also how he could possibly make such an enormous departure from the Vinnie character I knew him for. I had always found him dopey and ridiculous in the role, never mind unremarkably unattractive.
Ryan as Vinnie on "Home & Away"
I'm not one for being starstruck, so after a short conversation acknowledging that his faced seemed familiar and asking about how he's doing finding work in Hollywood, I had concluded I wouldn't have any further contact with him. Partly because I'm paranoid about coming across as starstruck with people like him. I won't deny I was intrigued as to what script he was studying the entire flight, but that's just the self-confessed film geek in me.
So it was Ryan who continued our shortlived friendship. So sweet a guy is he that he took the initiative to retrieve my luggage from where he'd put it, chatted our way off the plane, found me again five minutes later when I was walking in circles evidently stumped for what to do next, helped me find an airport staff member who could point me in the right direction, insisted on wheeling my carry-on all the way to the United Help Desk in Departures, then checked half a dozen times that I would be OK before parting company.
Celebrity or not, by far one of the loveliest gentleman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Seriously, just exquisite. His parents didn't bother to hide their obvious pride in him either, who wouldn't.
Henceforth, I will now become an avid fan of "True Blood" despite my cynicism that it's riding on the fame coat tails of "Twilight", just because I wish Ryan so well in everything he does now and in the future.
Ryan in "True Blood"
Maybe being starstruck would have been a good thing at this point, it might have made my panicked, starved, parched, full-bladdered 90 minute wait in line slightly more bearable. One lucky break I caught was that the lady behind me in the line was one of the few sane, mature people enduring the same experience, so after a few shared expressions of exasperation towards the procession of wankers complaining themselves blue in the face, I asked her if she'd mind holding my place in line while I made an urgent trip to the loo and found food and water.
We agreed we'd scratch each other's backs. Phew.
Being an unusually level-headed person that doesn't stress or worry much, I think it was somewhat more alarming to experience the levels of panic that I began to reach when the United representative told me there were next to no suitable flight options for me and that they were not responsible for putting me up overnight because technically the delay was Air Traffic Control's fault, not theirs.
With Camp America administration expecting my arrival in New Jersey, a mini-bus driven by my new boss containing several other international camp staff awaiting me and little to no money to my name (due my car being unsold and my inheritance not yet cleared) on which to thrive on for days without access to internet banking, I was pretty much packin' it.
The only flights United could offer would land me in New York City long after the Camp Fuller bus had departed. That and the very few other options they had on offer would require me to stay at least one or two nights in San Francisco on my own dime, which I had next to no budget for being that I had planned to be fed and put up by Camp America then Camp Fuller for the night and months ahead respectively.
That Billy Mack line comes to mind again.
To really add insult to injury, before taking some time away from the desk to make my decision, I asked where my luggage might be recovered. Recovered! Ha! I might not have made it to JFK Airport, but my luggage already had! If you think that's a joke, how about their system that denies you opportunity to make a Lost Baggage Claim until you've reached your final destination.
Nope, you can't start your claim report application at the airport you're stuck in for God knows how long. And no, you can't fill that paperwork out in any of the three airports they're giving you no choice but to layover in. No, ladies and gentleman, you have to wait the several days until you finally get to where you're going before you begin the long and arduous task of expecting them to make an effort to return your belongings to you.
Unbelievable.
Despite being on the brink of a meltdown, I decided that a call to the Camp America headquarters in New Jersey might bring some much-needed comfort. Expending who-knows-how-many quarters on the interstate phone call was the biggest waste of time I could possibly have ever imagined. Apparently Dopey McNo-Brains couldn't hear/understand me so he decided hanging up on me three times was the best solution.
As camp was not yet in session and it was drawing near the close of business for the day anyhow, there was naturally no answer at Camp Fuller either.
It was after looking at the premium prices for airport internet that I decided now was a pretty good time to dissolve into a puddle of tears. So I did.
Nobody seemed the least bit perturbed by my distress, thank goodness, I wouldn't want to be a burden on anyone. I wouldn't have wanted anyone to ask if I was OK, then they might have felt obligated to let me borrow their cell phone or to give me a few quarters to use. Swingin'!
Through streaming eyes I managed to find my way back to the overpriced internet stations, sit myself down, read the instructions, swipe my debit card, log in to my email and write an email copied to both Camp America and Camp Fuller explaining that neither would be seeing me any time soon.
Next I thanked my lucky stars that Big Sis had extensively educated me in The Ways Of Expedia and booked cheap accommodation at the San Francisco Airport Travelodge with a free airport shuttle.
This buoyed my confidence and helped me pull myself together. My usual strength and common sense followed and I was hit with an idea. My carefactor was zero that dozens of people in the help desk queue gave me the stinkeye as I directly approached my Case Manager at his counter, "OK, I need a flight direct to Providence". He didn't linger on his unhelpful, hindering attitude long after I stared him down and reiterated, "Providence is my only option, you cannot fly me to a city where I have no accommodation or transport to where I need to go, I will wait until you find a way to get me to Rhode Island".
And that he did.... while I hoped that Camp Fuller would be willing to come and pick me up when I finally made contact!
With my eyes and nose pink from crying, my flight booked, my tickets printed (yeah, there were three, one for each connection!) and pride in my heart, I marched my way out of Departures to the Arrivals terminal to find my free shuttle. Obviously you get what you pay for with cheap motels, the information on their site was incorrect, dialing #56 on the shuttle phone most definitely did not connect me with their Shuttle Request Line.
I was pretty much ready to deck somebody by the time I'd tried phoning five times, done four laps of Arrivals, walked up and down the shuttle bays and eventually found an indifferent shuttle marshall who told me booking was unnecessary, I just had to wait till one with "Travelodge" came along. I'm sure by that time I'd already missed four of the "Every 15 Minutes" opportunities.
The owner-manager of the motel was almost the lucky recipient of my desired decking when I discovered he not only wanted a bond in cash but also that their wi-fi was down. All I wanted to do at that point was lie down and not wake up again. I was broke, exhausted, scared, hungry, thirsty, hot and sticky and horribly lonely.
If I look sad, pathetic and lonely that's because I WAS!
My desperate desire to shower and sleep were outweighed by my desperate need to be comforted by my sister who I knew was regularly checking her email enough to know by that time that I was stranded and upset. After dumping my bag in my room and guzzling possibly a litre of water, I made the longest two hundred metre walk I've ever made to the nearby service station and procured a phone card.
Perhaps I should have called Jaime at Fuller prior to talking to my sister, because I pretty much fell apart the moment I heard Jenny's "Hi Cole". I had little credit to make both the call to Jenny and to Jaime, so the comfort was shortlived. We made arrangements to correspond via the overpriced internet in the motel foyer and I attempted to pull myself together enough to leave a voicemail at Fuller.
Jaime has never commented on the message I left, much to her credit. While I convinced myself at the time that I mostly covered my blubbering well during the hurried minute-long message, I highly doubt that was the case. I was a mess, I'm certain that was evident.
I think I managed to expel most of the necessary snot and tears by sobbing throughout my entire overlong shower. A dodgy cup of tea made with the crappy machine in my room and half an hour lying prostrate watching bad television was enough to get me back on my feet and around the corner to the semi-detached iHop behind the Travelodge office.
I officially now worship at the altar of iHop. It was there for me in my time of need. I completely understand the sentimentality featured in movies I've seen over the years:
It's a classic diner-type "meal-deal" family restaurant where the portions are oversized and the prices cheap.
As if I wasn't relieved enough to find an airconditioned, comfortable, uncrowded, quiet and homely place where I could buy a substantial amount of food for a low price, my waitress was like a Guardian Angel. The fact that her nametag told me her name was "Deb" wasn't the only reason she reminded me of my beloved faux-mum, short and squat and all warmth and kindness, I had to refrain from jumping up and giving her a hug.
She took better care of me than she needed to. Apart from being quick on the uptake and adding "sweetheart" to every sentence she addressed me with, she supplied me with ample conversation and kindness plus a free bottomless cup of tea despite it not being part of my four course dinner deal.
Four chapters of "Wuthering Heights" and $13.86 later I was full as a goog with food and drink to spare. Well fed and far more settled, I slept in as close to checkout as I possibly could with time to spare for a shower. I then spent my whole day hanging out in the Travelodge lobby, corresponding with Jaime and Jenny via expensive email, watching random television, finally properly getting into "Wuthering Heights" and demolishing over half of the puzzle book that I'm terribly grateful Steph put in my going-away package.
I appreciated another meal deal at iHop for dinner again and, starved for company as I was, had an extensive D&M with my favourite waitress. Upon discovered the details of my predicament, Deb confirmed she'd noticed how forlorn I was and that if she'd known my circumstances she'd have "taken me home with her for a homecooked meal and a comfy bed". So sweet!
Another free shuttle and a few more laps of San Fran airport and I was geekily hours too early for my plane. This didn't prevent me from jumpily checking and re-checking the flight board on more occasions than I'd wish to admit. My newbie senses were well worth it though, would you possibly believe that I was unlucky enough again that my gate changed without an announcement?
A quick sprint to the opposite end of Departures and I shotgunned the last good seat. I was thoroughly pleased until the announcement that this flight would now be delayed too. Nope, I'm not kidding, do I sound amused to you?
At least I'd learned my lesson after the San Fran Help Desk had informed me that I should never have boarded the original plane in LA, that United would have had to find me a new flight from there and it probably would have been a more direct and quick one too. I was prepared this time and my luck was looking up with a super helpful rep behind this gate counter. At first he ensured me the half an hour delay wouldn't impact on my connection given the ninety minutes I had upon arrival in Washington/Dulles.
But minutes later he called me back up and said he'd changed my flight to a shorter and safer connecting route so I could be guaranteed no further trouble. Another sprint to yet another corner of the airport and I was on an undelayed flight with only one layover in Chicago. It almost sounds pleasant when I put it that way, like disembarking an overlong, uncomfortable, overnight flight in Chicago airport at 5am and nodding off in a rock-hard gate lounge seat for seventy minutes before boarding the most abominable aircraft you'll ever see is an enjoyable experience.
I also elected to starve to death as a result of the most disgustingly overpriced airport food and drink in existence was my only option.
I actually teared up when the hostess's voice chimed "Welcome To Providence". Welcome indeed. I nearly hugged my neighbour but she already looked freaked out enough by the unexplained look of sheer delight I was wearing.
That quickly wore off when I received the memo that we were almost an hour late in landing and that the carry-on luggage they had forced all passangers to check in had been sent to the wrong carousel. That and the fact that I couldn't find the well-hidden, out-of-the-way Baggage Claim Office saw to my desire for knocking someone's lights out rearing its ugly head again.
I must have cut at least nine laps of the Arrivals terminal running between the area where the office was supposed to be, the understaffed enquiries desk, the carousel where I was waiting for my bag to appear and the carousel where my Camp Fuller chauffeur was no doubt waiting for me to appear.
I must have passed poor Alex a dozen times whilst walking in circles hunting down and collecting my carry-on bag, getting directions from the enquiries desk, finding the Baggage Claim Office, making my report and eventually awkwardly making eye contact with the bearded young guy in a bright yellow shirt who appeared to have been stalking me for the entire time.
I blame Alex for not sporting something obviously "Camp Fuller" or waving a dorky sign with my name on it or something.
In his defence, Alex is also a noob at Fuller (i.e. no old Staff shirts to throw on) and got little to no notice of being sent on a chauffeur mission to wait for the hopeless Aussie that missed the bus she was supposed to be on in the first place. He explained that the bright yellow shirt was his way of standing out.
And at long last, my blog has finally arrived at my current destination: Camp Fuller, Rhode Island.
Next up, find out what greeted me at the end of the awkward car ride with two Fuller Noobs: one who wasn't aware for 95% of the trip that he was transporting a Key Staff Member and hence spoke to his passenger as if she were to be regular Counselor and the other who had lost her luggage and was completely shattered having just spent the better part of the last 48 hours on planes, panicked, stressed, tired, frightened and lonely.
P.S. If you'e surprised by the lack of the lack of photos in this post then you need to take a long hard look at the one photo I did take then ask yourself why.
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