Yesterday, posthumously

What a day. I feel like someone took a shit on my head and then told me to celebrate.

First you've got to imagine Morocco. To be culturally insensitive but to incite an easy picture for you, I can say that Morocco is feral. It is a wild cat animal that lives the way it wants to live and tells any kind of external norms/rules to fuck off. Some examples: there is no such thing as a red light, rather every color is Yellow with little caution shown. People walk across the street in full view of oncoming traffic with no hesitation. People, no, men, piss publicly not just on the corner of a building but on the wall of the kasbah. There is no indication that they have gag reflexes as the conflicting aromas of dead animal, burning garbage and smog have no effect on the natives.


That said, my luggage was left in the city of Rabat.


I'm on the bus, headed for Casablanca airport (1.5 hours away) and the bus driver gets a phone call from the guide, Said. Said says: "Tai, you lefta yur luggahje here" "What??" "Yur luggahje is in de lobbay" ..... "Well, what are we going to do about this?"

So Said suggests the bus drop me off at the rest stop it was originally going to stop at for restrooms and I wait there until he arrives with the group that is going to Marrakech (southern Morocco). I was completely dumbfounded by the whole situation- You must understand that I am really REALLY ready to get out of Morocco. I can attribute this mostly to the high stress experienced because it was a work thing that lasted 24 hours for 10 days. Although I will also admit that I'm a sucker for developed countries and all of the luxuries. I definitely peed on my foot in at least 1 squat toilet episode and my scarf fell off my neck onto the urine slick floor in another. On top of all of this, taming my irritability has been INCREDIBLY challenging. I want to tell everyone EXACTLY how it is and I just don't think they are ready for life to be delivered to them in that way.

Anyway, Said hatches this plan with the rest stop and I'm like whatever this sucks. It also sucked for other reasons that I won't get into since John advised me to perhaps censor work-related miseries on this public blog. We get to the rest stop and I'm like, ok Bye everyone I'm staying here (IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE MOROCCO) and as I got off I was thinking, this is retarded. Why the hell am I going to stay here when Said can just bring my bags to the airport. Brilliant. So we call Said and change the plan with the obligatory language barrier issues and I head off to the airport with the rest of the group.

So we get to the airport and Shauna says that she'll stay with me until I have some things figured out. My plan was to try to change my flight to a later one (in case the luggage didn't arrive in time). That's all, just a simple change of flight. Right?

We head over to check in and the girl says, you have to go to the agency booth. "You can't do anything here for me?" No

Go to the agency booth, Hi, My luggage was left at my hotel in Rabat and I don't know if it will make it here in time. I'd like to change my flight (*handing her my passport). She looks up stuff and then hands me back my passport with the very tell-tale look of "I've decided that I am not going to be helpful in any way and I now have a personal vendetta against your success"You have to go to check in, I can't do anything here.

Oh, well, checkin just told me I had to come here.

You have to go to check in and talk to my supervisor

Ok, what is your supervisor's name?

I don't know. She's a girl.

You don't know your supervisor's name?

No.

What is your name?

Lamina.

So I decide to go outside to look for Said and the douchey luggahje and bid Shauna a farewell after not being able to get her cellphone to work to call him.

I sit outside the airport under a palm tree and keep reassuring myself that this is what is happening at the pace that it is happening and there is nothing that I can do about it. Then I stand up, then I sit down again. Then I walk over the the street and sit on a pole, then I walk back into the center of the relatively empty plaza. I mean, seriously- I stand out. Anyone within 300 feet is going to notice me. My hair and stature alone set me apart from the average Moroccan- Said is going to see me but I just can't seem to find the perfect location to be found. I tried to read my book but just kept thinking about not being identified. Finally Said rolls up in his big honkin van and unloads my shit. I wheel myself back into the airport, into the appropriate terminal and up to easyJet checkin

Hello, I'm checking in. here's my passport

Tap tap tap, You aren't listed on this flight to Madrid.

I booked it two days ago.

Do you have the confirmation number?

No.

You have to go to the booth madame.

Well, I was over at the booth before with another problem with my luggage and I don't think that woman really wants to help me.

I will go with you; she has to help you, it is her job.

BIG SIGH OF RELIEF! Then I explained the whole situation to her and it turns out SHE is the nameless supervisor, WHAT LUCK. So we stroll up to the booth and I'm like, YEA BATCH BE SCARED I BROUGHT YOUR SUPERVISOR. So they are looking me up and still not finding me, and she says she needs to have that confirmation number. So i ask her if I can go on the computer to look at my email. They let me and I go to type "http://www.gmail.com/" and it looks like "rrr;aheiv;uxa" Ok, cool. Moroccan keyboard. So checking my email become a much longer task. Finally get the search word right in the text box and find the easyJet confirmation email. Open it up and I'm like, HERE LOOK! and I scroll down and allow to escape a perfect gasp as I notice that the flight is booked for 11/14/2009. Then I show it to them with a look of panic. They proceed to look it up on their shitty terminal, any they are like, It was for yesterday. And I'm like, I know, I just showed you that, duh. What do we do now?

Well ma'am you need to buy another ticket. Ok fine, let's do it. It couldn't be that easy though, you know that right? My bags are going to be an issue. Supervisor lady looks at her watch, hmmm we have 20 minutes, I dont know. What is there to know?!? Let's get this thing rocking in the free world. Run the credit card and take a lot of money from me for luggahje that is too heavy and don't worry about the ass ton of money I spent for the flight yesterday (which I prepaid for the overweight luggahje).

I'd make this story shorter, but I really don't want to spare myself or the reader any moment of this captivating experience.

So, booth lady prints a receipt for 110 dirhams (about $13) for GOD knows what and tells me to go to checkin. I'm now running and sweating like a bison. I get to checkin and talk to supervisor lady. I put my first bag on the scale 8 kilos. Second bag 27 kilos. I'm allow 20 kilos total for both. 15 kilos over. Whatever, I have to take them. Then she looks at my carryon bag. Now before I go forward with this, I need to mention that there have been times when I have REALLY pushed the limit for what should be considered a carryon bag. I've brought bags the size of small sheep onto planes and felt pretty awesome when I wasn't questioned. Today, however, I have what was advertised officially as a "carry-on bag" with wheels. One of those little wheelie guys. Best part is, it's really not even that full! This is so unlike me!! So I'm like, NO WAY I'm going to have a problem with this little guy. One of the other girls on the delegation actually checked in on this flight earlier, I was behind her in line, and she had a gigantic puffy duffle bag and got through no problem. So I'm feeling confident that she's going to let me go especially in light of the 10 minute window I am now facing.

"Can you please place your carry-on in the bin" referring to the cage they use to monitor your carryon. If it doesn't fit, they make you check it. So I lift it up and place it on top and wedge it in a little. It clearly meets the dimension criteria and any onlooker can see the bag is OK GO. I point to it.

"No, it doesn't fit"

Totally incredulous face. "Yes, it does. the handle and neck pillow are preventing it from sliding
down- it fits though"

"Try it then"

So I bend down and wedge it in the cage even more.

"Ok- there it is."

"No, it is still not in"

Now I am absolutely boiling over. I am more angry than I have experienced in a long time. With RAGE, I shove the bag to the bottom of the cage and I yell to her

"OK?!@?"

"Yes, ok"

Now I'm struggling to get it out. I put my purse on the floor and awkwardly lift both the luggage and the DUMB ORANGE CAGE. Then some man gets in the middle of all of this and rolls halfway over my purse. I looked at the situation from the bent down position, looked at at him, shoved his luggage about 3 feet and picked up my purse and finally freed my carry on. I go to the desk (everyone on line is staring at me- I am that crazy woman- THAT one) and I look at the woman and say

YOU KNOW, I'M PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!

That is the first, and hopefully last time I will pull the pregnant card with anyone other than John. As soon as I said it, I started sobbing without control. She was very apologetic, which felt like it was making the feeling bad for myself even worse. She's like, how many weeks? and I'm like 3 MONTHS! (I guess 3 months was more legit than the accurate 2, to me). She was like, I didn't know, I'm sorry madame. I'm still crying and I just want to get the hell out of CASABLANCA AIRPORT. And she's doing stuff on the computer, looks up at me, still crying like a boss, and I blubber:

"I'M REALLY EMOTIONAL RIGHT NOW"

So she nods, what other response can you have to that, and tells me to go to the booth, again. ughhhhhhhhhh. So I go to the booth and pay for the whole mess which ends up being an amount I don't even want to think about and go BACK to check in for the ticket. She hands me the ticket and tells me that I'm now classified as "Special assistance" which means I board first. NICE. So I get in line for security check and passport control and of course I don't have my customs form filled out. I have to go to some booth WHICH IS NOT AT ALL SIGNED AS A PLACE YOU HAVE TO GO TO BEFORE GETTING IN LINE, grab one and fill it out as I wait in line again. Molly, Maryel and Nancy show up behind me (other delegates/2 board members) and we all line up for passport control in 2 adjacent lines. Nancy is behind me, and they ask how things are going, and I start CRYING ALL OVER THE PLACE again.

"I'm not usually like this!" sniff wipe get snot all over my jacket sleeve.

They respond with the "ohh it's okay, you are stressed out, the situation is so difficult, blah blah blah"But now I'm back to feeling sorry for myself instead of angry and I can't stop crying. So absurd.

Finally I get through that shit and metal detectors and run up to the gate to see a HUGE LINE and then about 10 adults and children in a shorter line near the letters "SA" and I'm like YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. I cut through the huge line, with a lot of satisfaction and walk down to the plane. At the end they have another carry on hell cage. I'm standing there, again, feeling like I'm in the clear when I notice one of the easyJet staff eyeing my bag (Which honest to god is the same size as EVERYONE else's wheelie carryon) and she stops me as we're boarding and says, Can you please place your bag in the cage. NO, I can't- I did this successfully already in the termi.... "SHE IS OK, let her go, she is ok" THERE IS SUPERVISOR LADY swooping in to save me from another breakdown. Unbelievable!!

So I get on the plane and I'm SO THIRSTY and my body decides that it's not done feeling sorry for itself and I keep crying. I put my headphonea on and wept quietly next to the window until I was interupted by the stewardess which then alerted my fellow passengers that there was a little crying christie sitting next to them. I thought for a minute about all of the ways it would be appropriate for me to be crying on a plane- I just left the love of my life in Casablanca forever, I'm headed to Madrid for my dear granny's funeral, being pregnant was NOT a good excuse. So I just kept on crying and listening to sad music until I accidentally started playing "the cars- I guess you're just what I needed", and I was kindof bopping my head and continued with the whole album.

So fast forward, Madrid airport- totally civilized and I'm feeling REALLY good to be there. I leisurely get my luggage and then stop for some food at the cafeteria style place. After eating and reading a little, I got some money from the ATM and found a shuttle service. Shuttle drops me right to this hotel which is in the middle of everything- SO AWESOME! Front desk, of course, has an awful unwelcoming attitude- DONT CARE. get in my room (super modern and nice) and find out- theres NO INTERNET.
KUESFOASDFNISDKLJFHNADSLKJFHSDNLKFJHDSNFLKJDH

There are a few things that I would like to dwell on before I bid this diary entry adieu. 1) The girl at the original booth looked me up and must not have found my name yet she chose to not mention that to me thus creating a more complicated situation. She was a hater from the get-go. 2) It shouldn't MATTER that I'm pregnant. Why the hell don't people just act with some decency to a fellow human being?????

So now, I'm writing all of this down in notepad to post whenever I post and you read. I needed to have some closure on this day by letting it all hang out. I think I'm going to read and go to sleep early and explore the world tomorrow. Thanks for reading this- hope it made your day just a little bit better.

Update: I'm in the lobby of the hotel where there is free wifi. I did a 15 minute walk around (stopped in a starbucks thinking they would have internet -even if I had to pay- but no, and I was just tempted by all of the wonderful coffee drinks I can't have. Also, they have Christmas decorations up already which is odd but I guess they don't have thanksgiving as the buffer. Anyway, madrid is NOT on the grid system which definitely throws off my internal gps, a usually accurate and reliable mechanism. I still don't know what I'm going to do today, but I'm really relaxed and fine with doing nothing. I do REALLY wish that John or my mom or a close friend were here with me. Boo hoo for me.