October 21st, 2017, Part I

I woke up at 6 am. Well, more like 6:15, as I hadn’t gone to sleep until around 1 or so. One, because Kayla (my sister) and I had gone out. It was my last night in Nashville. Our initial intent was to go do karaoke. We went to the Hard Rock Cafe first for dinner. I had a burger and a salad, as I wasn’t entirely certain Ireland had burgers. So, I got a burger, she got a burger, and we both got something Irish for dessert. After dinner we went to Printers’ Alley, one of the more historic places in Nashville. Here, there was supposed to be a karaoke place that was pretty good, but we couldn’t find it. We ended up having to ask two people hanging outside a bar. We asked if they knew where a karaoke bar was.

The guy said, “The Wild Beaver.”

Kayla said, “Is it the best?”

The lady said, “BEAVER!”

I’m not sure if she misunderstood us, or we misunderstood, but later it was something we shared a laugh over. We went to the Wild Beaver Saloon, our first impression being that we were going to have to sing a very country song. We decided on Man! I Feel Like A Woman! Can’t get any more cliched and country than that other than that whiskey and horses song. We got drinks from some grumpy bartenders and stood around people watching, waiting for our name to be called. We then noticed that there was a mechanical bull. Kayla said, “You do it.” I insisted she do it with me, but she said she had a headache. I ended up doing it twice, no three times. Two originally because we only had our cards, and the bar had a $10 minimum. Tickets were $5 each. I got thrown off almost immediately the first time. Second time, I stayed on a little longer. The third time I got for free because the operator motioned for me to get back on it. Some new people had walked in, and I was doing a little advertising, so cool. We ended up not doing karaoke because it was one of those “tip to skip” deals, and people kept going like two or three times in front of us. Anyway, I got to bed late, then couldn’t go to sleep for nervousness and also fear that I would forget something or not wake up early enough. I woke up at 6:15, was showered by 6:30 and began to pack any last minute items. Time seemed to fly by, and we decided to leave by 7:15. We ended up leaving around 7:30-7:45, I think. We went to Cracker Barrel and I started filling with emotions, most of which I couldn’t identify. Most prominent was sadness. This was my family, and always would be, but I would never live with them again. I would be out on my own. Being on my own wasn’t a sad thing, just that you can’t hold on to a moment.

After Cracker Barrel, we went to the airport. It still hadn’t sunk in that I was going to Ireland for a year. We might as well have been going to church. After some hiccups with parking, we arrived and walked into the terminal. We walked around a bit looking for WestJet (my airline). We found it, checked my bags, then walked around to the ticket gate. At this point, I would have to go on alone. I tried not to get too emotional. It was becoming more real. I wished I could bring them with me. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to. It would change, I would change, once I had gone, but I wanted to stay right there, forever. We all stalled a bit. Kayla got me a travel pillow, Daniel picked up a wifi card for me. I stood looking at them both, taking it all in, because I wouldn’t see them for a long time. We all then proceeded to stare at each other awkwardly. I looked at Kayla, and she looked like she was about to tear up. I said, “Don’t!” I knew if she started, I would, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop. We said our final goodbyes, and I looked back for a picture. I saw as I was walking away that Kayla was turning red, which meant she was about to cry. My own emotions started boiling but I only had about 10 seconds before I encountered the security officer who scanned my boarding pass.

She asked, “Are you Express?”

“No,” I said.

“You’re in the wrong line, but that’s okay.” She proceeded to open the barrier and let me through to the correct line. I guess she took pity on me because my eyes were blurry from tears. I made it through security, surprisingly easy, then walked past all the shops and Starbucks, thinking “I’ll come back.” I ended up sitting in the waiting area until my flight started boarding, one: debating whether I’d have time to go get it; two: deciding I didn’t really need coffee and I needed to save money; third: I wanted to sleep on the flight. Tried to get wifi on my phone, but it didn’t work, so I just watched people or closed my eyes. Let it be noted that I didn’t have service on my phone as I had canceled it on the 18th to prevent it from rolling over to another billing cycle. We started boarding. Now, I was excited.

I got on the plane, had my heavy personal item, with my laptop, bible, journal, Insanity workout, and important papers, and my carry-on suitcase. Turns out, a personal item, on takeoffs and landings, has to be put under the seat. Mine was too bulky and didn’t fit. Fortunately, there was room in the overhead bins. Luckily though, because now technically I had 2 carry-on’s, which weren’t allowed.

I was sitting in an aisle seat next to this nice looking lady who didn’t look like she wanted to talk. Like, she didn’t look unapproachable, but she was looking down at her book. Fine by me. I started reading The Alchemist. Apparently, the most bought or most read (can’t remember) book in the world. She opened her book and it was Nora Roberts, my favorite romance author. Debating whether to say something, I just said, “I love Nora Roberts, she’s my favorite.” It actually didn’t occur to me that she might not speak English. Fortunately, she said, “Oh, I read so many authors, I don’t know the difference.” Not knowing what to say, I smiled and went back to my book. I was too scattered to focus though, so I put it down and looked around at the people, the plane. A young gentleman came up to me and said I was sitting in his seat. I pulled out my boarding pass, “15B.” I looked up, and I was actually sitting in 15D. I had not noticed that there was a 15 on either side of the aisle. I had just noticed the number, thinking another one was across the aisle. He just said, “That’s okay, I’ll just take your seat.” It was a window seat. Ol well, I shrugged, I was on my way to Ireland, I do not have a preference of where I’m sitting to get there.

The plane started, and I felt nauseous, going back and forth between thinking excitedly, “Am I really doing this?” and “What the heck am I doing? I need to get off and go home.” The propellers started. Yes, my first plane had propellers. We began backing out and moving forward. We moved around a bit, then finally sat still, waiting to take off. I simultaneously was looking out the window and had my phone camera on too. We launched. That’s what it felt like. I was forced against the back of my seat, unprepared for the stomach drop as we took off, and I said “OH!”  We were finally in the air. The flight passed fairly uneventfully except that I chatted from time to time with the lady next to me. Her name was Shelley. I thought she was American from the sound of it, but she was from Canada. That’s where we were headed, Toronto. Her husband was still back in Nashville, staying at a conference one day more. She helped me fill out the declaration form, which was surprisingly confusing, and we fell silent again. A little while later, we got to talking about traffic, and she said traffic was awful in Canada. They don’t have any merge lanes like we do, just yield signs. So, you basically have to gun it to get on the highway as there’s no room to get up to speed. She talked, at my questions, about her life in Canada. All fairly “boring” according to her, but it was a culture different from mine, so it was exciting. She talked about how the fall leaves only stay on the trees about a week, then a good strong wind comes through and everything is bare. She asked about what I was doing, and I told her, trying to be concise as I am always trying to do. As we began our descent, I asked her about customs and Toronto in general. She told me I might need to physically pick up my luggage and take it through security again. She then said, I think a little biased, that Toronto didn’t really have anything original to offer. It had tall buildings that were mostly headquarters or businesses but had nothing particularly special. I pointed out a body of water, and she said, “Oh yes, I think it is Lake Ontario, or at least one of the Great Lakes.”

We landed, and I said if it was okay with her, that I was going to wait until everyone had gotten off as I had two heavy bags and I didn’t want to accidentally bean somebody in the head.

She said, “Oh, I’ll be the last one off of the plane. I clean it.”

Surprised, I said, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, that’s my job. I work for the airline.”

Our jobs hadn’t come up in conversation, but I was still surprised. She laughed and said she had once  been an accountant but got tired of sitting in an office and doing that so she changed careers. I could relate on so many levels. I hadn’t really started my career yet, whatever it’s going to be, but I didn’t like sitting in an office. After saying goodbye, I got off the plane and followed the thankfully English signs. They were in French too, but I was still able to read them because of the slash. Once I arrived, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Some people kept going and some were stopping and getting in line. An agent started directing the people coming from another flight to the line. I didn’t know what to do, so I just got in line. While waiting, I saw Shelley walk by. I wanted to say something, but refrained. I eventually got to the top of the line, and there were multiple machines that were about the declaration forms we had filled out. The light above the machine turned green, and I took it. I filled out the information, put my passport under the scanner. It didn’t read it because I had it upside down. I turned it around, and it read it correctly. The camera whirred down to my eye level and took my picture. I saw the picture and thought, “Good Lord, I look a mess!” but confirmed the picture because I only had like 2 hours for the layover before my next flight. I wasn’t worried though. I followed the signs to an escalator and walked into this larger room, known as the customs hall.

Waiting in line there too, as the declaration machine had given me a receipt with codes I couldn’t understand on it. I waited in line, then finally got up there. The agent checked my receipt, then told me where to go. I went through and headed for the WestJet info desk. She told me baggage would be coming through on Belt 5. It came through, and I watched for mine, watched for mine, saw a leopard print suitcase. “I’ll watch that one come around again, just to get an idea of if mine’s in there.” I watched it rotate 4 or 5 times, but not seeing mine, I went back over to the info desk. I showed her my sticker, and she was like, “I’m so sorry, we have a new system. I’ll have to call downstairs to see if yours is automatically being moved over.” It was, and she said I could just go all the way down to the end and enter security.

So, Toronto Airport is enormous, and I wasn’t sure where to go in. I found a WestJet agent manning some kiosks, and asked him about my boarding pass and where to go. He looked at it and said that it wasn’t updated as it didn’t have the gate number on it. I had just printed it the night before, but I said okay, and went and got in line. 4:03. I looked at my boarding pass. “Boarding ends 4:50.” I still hadn’t gone through security. I thought, “Hopefully, my phone is wrong. Maybe it hasn’t adjusted.” Line’s not moving, and the attendant that left hasn’t come back. Look down, 4:09. One family moves up. One more to go. 4:11.  One more family moves up. Okay, finally, next my turn. 4:15. Waiting, waiting, no one at the desks is finishing up. The one who left finally comes back. I told her I needed an updated boarding pass. She printed it out fairly quickly. I asked her what time it was.

“4:20.”

“Am I gonna make it? My flight starts boarding at 4:25.”

“It’s going to be close. Hold on one moment, let me see if I can get someone to escort you, okay?”

She proceeded to go over to a young gentleman and an older lady. The older lady came over.

“They’re not going to hold the flight. We will escort you through to security, but we can’t make them hold the flight for you.”

Standing there dumbfounded, I said, “So, what then?”

“Try to make it, but we can’t make them hold it.”

The young gentleman told me and another lady on a similar flight, “Come with me.”

We started jogging, then skipping through the very long security line. We got up front, put our stuff in the bins, and waited. The lady with me put her stuff up first, but the conveyor belt kept pushing someone else’s backwards, re-scanning it. I didn’t dare look at the time because I didn’t want to know, and I couldn’t make this move any faster than it was. Push forward, push backward, and I still don’t have mine on the conveyor belt. I’m not going to make it.(Cont. on part 2)