Blogs about trips are so hard for me to write because so much happens that I don’t know where to begin. I don’t want to overwhelm you with every little detail of our five day trip, but I don’t want to forget the good stuff, so I am trying something different. I’m going to make this a series of short stories so I don’t forget anything while simultaneously not boring the heck out of my readers. Let me set the scene:
First of all, it was a work trip. The company I work is global and has branches all over the place. A branch in Connecticut needed some help so my boss asked if I was willing. Free flight to New England? Hotel? Rental car? Food? Sign me up! I’d never been to New England so no arm pulling was necessary. If I haven’t been, I want to go. Always. I’m not too into exploring new places alone, so I asked Kristen if she wanted to tag along. Kristen works from home and also happens to be my old roommate. I’ve always thought of her as a cat. She’s quiet, but very social when she wants to be, and she doesn’t require too much attention. Sometimes she gets skittish, but also is incredibly curious-making her a great travel partner. So….off we went. Just me and my cat, Kristen. If you want to read her bloggetty that has tons more pictures because I suck and she’s the photog, click here.
Kristen decided not to check her baggage. With a $25 baggage fee (STUPID) and a super nice Apple laptop, she didn’t want to risk it getting damaged. She was also kind enough to pack an extra umbrella for me in the outside pocket of her carry-on. Both were sticking out and wouldn’t have been easy to shove into the bag, making it likely that baggage handlers might accidentally lose them. Even when we were at the gate and the staff came over the speaker saying the flight was quite full and they would check bags for free as there is limited space, Kristen would not give it up.
As we boarded the plane, the guy behind her let her know, “You have two umbrellas.” Uh…..yep. It isn’t weird to me that he noticed the umbrellas, but that he felt the need to inform Kristen of the number of umbrellas she packed like he was doing her a huge fave. Did he want her to thank him? “OH MY GAWD! I DOOOO HAVE TWO UMBRELLAS! I MUST RID OF ONE OF THEM IMMEDIATELY! THANK YOU KIND SIR!” Pay attention, kids. This little exchange is a perfect example of foreshadowing.
As Kristen put her suitcase in the overhead bin, the two umbrellas slipped out, one of them smacking her dead in the face. She wasn’t able to stop them because she would have lost her grip on her carry-on causing it to drop on the people seated under her. She was several rows behind me. I could do nothing but watch the disaster in slow motion. Below her were two elderly people and a baby. A BABY, y’all. I am not making this up. Kristen often finds herself in these sitcom-type, real life situations. In her moment of panic, my sweet little cat yells, “SHIIIYUTT!” in her soft southern voice. A yell for her is really just my regular voice, but still. It was totally audible.
For just a moment, I glanced at Kristen’s face to see she didn’t get hurt. She didn’t. She pointed her face at the ground. I lost it. I don’t know if I was just tired, or hormonal or what, but this was the most hilarious moment to me. I was WHEEZING with laughter as Kristen made her way back to our seat. Kristen yelling that word in a public place was not normal for her, but when you get smacked in the face with umbrellas and you are worried you’re going to knock out a baby and two old people, all you can do is yell obscenities. Just like a cat after a long morning-before the beverage service even started-she laid her head down and took a nap until we were descending.
When the flight was over, we waited until everyone on the plane-including the baby and elderly couple-was off until Kristen dared to remove her luggage. We awkwardly waddled down the narrow aisle as the cleaning crew anxiously awaited our removal. They stared at us impatiently as we made our way towards the exit. Luckily, no one was injured on the way out. We had made it to Boston.