Another airport related debaucle

Well, today was the big day. My world traveling was coming to an end. I was headed home. Ready to see my brother, my family and my American friends. I was excited, but sad. It's always hard leaving a place, especially a place as great as Holland. But still I was excited.

And then things got insane.

Let me start from the beginning.

Last night I went out with Freek, Lincy, Daan and Florian. We went to a place called Crazy Pianos. It was a club featuring two pianos, a drummer and a singer. It was really, really awesome. We stayed there until 3 am and didn't get home (we had to drive) until 4 am. Then we watched Friends until 5:30 am. Then Freek took Lincy and Florian to the train station and I went to bed.

Some hours later I awoke. The plan was to get up, have breakfast and then head off to the airport. My flight didn't leave until 1:10 pm, so I had plenty of time. I planned on being there at least two hours before, maybe even three. Again, I was seriously determined not to repeat the whole Poland incident.

Freek was making me breakfast (he is a great dude). On a whim I decided to check my e-ticket, just to make sure nothing crazy and impossible had happened.

La la la. I wasn't really paying attention. I was thinking about my toast, which I could smell in the kitchen.

And then I saw it.

It was a small little phrase. Innocent enough normally. But suddenly it was full of dark intent.

It read: “Flight rescheduled: departs 10:50 am.”

Fuccccccdge. Shit. Dang. Golly Gee. Holy Hell.

At that point it was 9:30 am.

That meant we had not nearly enough time to get to Schipol airport. Much less navigate the insanity of security, bag check etc.

But we tried. Freek drove admirably. Hurling his little Dutch car between much larger vehicles. Tailgating slow vehicles like non-other. Cursing in Dutch, English and sometimes Spanish. Honking his horn, flipping the bird.

It was almost enough. Or so we thought.

Freek screeched up to the front of the airport, I jumped out, grabbed my stuff and raced inside. Freek was going to park the car and come and see how I was doing.

I ran into the airport and dashed to the Northwest Airlines desk. I had three minutes until cheek in-time, I could do it.

And, of course, predictably even, there was a huge line.

And then lady luck reached out her blessed hand, and threw me a bone. Desperate, I approached the first check in person I saw. He was a guy, about my age, nice enough looking. I explained my situation , hoping beyond hope that he could speed things up for me.

And he did. But as he helped me he hit on me, constantly. At first I didn't notice it, he just seemed like a nice guy, and I was in a huge hurry. But then I began to realize that he was looking for a lot of eye-contact. Then he asked me if I had ever been to a certain club. I said no, but that I thought I had heard of it. Then he laughed and told me it was a gay club. I told him that I wasn't really into that kind of stuff.

I don't think he heard.

Meanwhile we were cutting through the line like a hot knife through butter. It was one of the best feelings in the world. Flying by all these folks (the second best thing to actually flying). We went up to one of his colleges (a pretty woman, a bit older than me). Together they began to check the computer system to see if I had a chance of getting on the flight.

Meanwhile, he was laying it on hot and heavy. He told me that if I missed the flight I would “have to spend the night with him”. He talked a lot about how nice and polite I was.

I was in a strange situation. I'm not gay, and even if I were, I wouldn't go for a guy like that. But I really, really wanted to get on that flight. So I didn't actively flirt. But I didn't not flirt. I just kind of let him go.

And then the pretty lady said “Oh, your plane left at 10:10”.

Wow. So, let me see, the original flight was supposed to leave at 1:10 pm. It got rescheduled to 10:50 am and then it left at 10:10 am. Wow. That makes a lot of sense to me.

So I missed my plane. The gay guy and the pretty lady directed me to a ticket booth to see if I could get the next flight to America. As I left the gay guys said,

“You go check over there, and then you come right on back to me”. I guess I'm a gold digger of a sort because once I got wanted from him I was out of there. Now way was I going back to him (but to be fair he was a nice guy, and he did help me a lot, he was just a bit aggressive with the come-ons).

Well at this point Freek joined me and we waited in line. Again lady luck smiled upon me. There were five people dealing with reservations, four of them looked like they just swallowed a lemon. The last lady looked much nicer and I got her.

I won't lie. I was as polite as I could be. In America you call it sucking up. In Holland you call it being a slimeball(spelling is wrong). Well I was all of those. I wanted to get a flight and I didn't want to pay for it.

And I didn't have to. It turns out they changed the flight a month ago and somehow forgot to email me about the change. So the fault lay with them, therefore I was able to jump on the next flight to Seattle. Unfortunately it is not a direct flight, so I arrived much later, and I had a two hour layover in Minneapolis.

However, it all worked out and I made it safely to Seattle. As I write I'm sitting in the basement of Hannah Reid's dorm. It is a nice place and I must say I'm glad that everything worked out. Son I will write about my transition from Holland to America, but not now.

Adios.

The look

So, recently I was trying to navigate a Dutch train station. I had all my stuff clinging to my back and I looked (I imagine) like a very confused and lost American. The only true part about that is that I'm American, I knew exactly where I wanted to go and I was determined to get there. I don't mean to brag but I've gotten pretty good at navigating train stations. I was confident, to say the least.

Well, some poor guy misread the situation completely. He saw me and though “Hmm, young, obviously foreign, possibly a hippie backpacker. I bet I can convince him to buy some shit from me.”

So, he approached me.

I was distracted. I looked up and saw this guy looking at me. I didn't get a good feeling from him, he seemed like a shady type of character. He began to follow me while jabbering at me in Dutch.

I said, “Umm, dude I don't speak Dutch.”

At this point I imagine his brain was thinking something like “Oh yeah baby, jack pot, this kid is a foreigner, he is young, he is going to buy whatever I offer him. He is going to be practically eating out of my hand when I'm done with him.”

So, he began trying to sell me something. I couldn't really understand what he wanted to sell me, but judging by the way he lowered his voice and looked kind of sneaky I imagined it was something slightly less than legal.

I looked at him, shook my head, and walked off.

And he followed, at a polite distance. I think he was re-working his plan of attack, maybe he decided I was more respectable than I looked. So he came up to me again and asked if I wanted a taxi to a hotel. I said, “No, thank you though.”

And then, I gave him the 'look'. It took me a while to perfect 'the look' but I had plenty of practice in India. I don't always get it, but most times I do. The 'look' when done properly, can stop the most determined salesman (or woman) dead in their tracks. The look tells them a couple of things. First it tells them that you aren't kidding. That you aren't a confused tourist looking for something to buy. Then it tells them that you know exactly what you want and where you want to go. And finally, it shows them a glimpse of your soul. They see some one not to be trifled with. They see some one who is dangerous. Often, after seeing the 'look' they imagine that you are ex-military, or that you work for the CIA, or that you are an assassin. They don't sleep well that night, or the night after, because they keep seeing the 'look'. When they close their eyes at night they see it. When they sleep they dream about it. When they eat their cheerios in the morning each little bit of cereal is your eye, glaring up at them from out of their bowl.

Needless to say, he left.