Shit Show

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You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you have screwed up and bad? Like an upset stomach but harder, like there is a weight in there. Usually caused by yourself. Like when you do something that is completely moronic and you can’t take it back or fix it? And when it is 110% your fault. Yeah, I am hoping that feeling will pass soon.

The last day of vacation started off great. We were up early and had everything cleaned up at the house and packed. Did a couple of errands before heading to the airport, including mailing the keys for the rental house back to the owner (remember this). The check in for the rental car was smooth, no line up to check our bags, and remarkably, all of our bags were underweight. Could not believe how lucky that was! All of our flights were on time, we had excellent seats and good seatmates. Very pleasant day.

Throughout the day, Ed kept doing odd things. He wasn’t concentrating or something. He tried to take our bags to baggage claim, saying that is where you bring the bags. We were going to Starbucks and he thought the entrance was California Liquors. He was going the wrong way in the airport to our departure gate. He was reflecting on the burger at Five Guys, and said that the regular cheeseburger may have been too big, and that next time he will have the little cheeseburger. What? Too much of a man-sized meal for you? He said he could hardly get his mouth around it. Oh, I thought, Warren is going to like that one! All morning I was saying to him, ‘you are really going to look bad in the blog tonight’. Ahhh, if only I knew then...

So great flights, generally a great day. We land in Minneapolis early. That is the end of all good news. From the point I stepped off the plane it has been a complete shit show. We head to luggage. Our bags come off near the beginning, but one of the wheels on my suitcase is hanging off. So we go over to US Airways Baggage “Service” (quotes added by me) and Ed notices that the side of the bag is damaged as well, the covering is completely coming off. So the woman comes to the counter about 5 minutes later, which is no big deal because we are waiting for Ed’s clubs. I show her my bag and she says ‘yeah, we aren’t responsible for wheels’. I show her the side of my bag and she says ‘yeah, we really can’t do anything for you’. So I ask why not and she says ‘yeah, we aren’t really responsible for damage to bags’. I ask what would have to happen for her to help me and she said the bag would have to pretty much be destroyed. Hello? This bag is now useless! So I ask her, could I have the phone number to make a complaint. She says ‘yeah, I don’t have a number’. Really? No phone number and she says ‘yeah, you could go online’. I repeat, you are baggage services and you have no phone number for me to call to make a complaint about baggage. ‘yeah, sorry. You will have to go online’. I point out to her how ridiculous this is. She shrugs her shoulders.

So we get the clubs, undamaged, thank goodness. Head outside to get the shuttle to the hotel. There is a thunderstorm watch, it is 88 degrees and completely humid. Moving the suitcase that weighs almost 50 pounds without one wheel is not going well. It’s more of a drag and tug kind of thing, that in my very stylish travelling outfit, which includes white pants, is not going well. We get outside and I am sweating it is so hot. So off comes the coat. Then the sweater. Now I am stripped down to a tank top and you know this god forsaken perm of mine, it hits the humidity and BOING! Now I have hair going everywhere. Which I think is a problem. Until Ed says, ‘do you have the truck keys?’

Of course I have the truck keys, I have everything. I am the keeper of all the stuff. Computer, ipad, ipods x 3, headphones, passports, money, boarding passes, and definitely keys. When we were waiting for the shuttle to take us to the airport, I would have said to Ed ‘do you want me to hold the truck keys?’ (translation: give me the keys). And since he really doesn’t like to carry things, he hands over the keys and I put them in the pocket of my very cute Lululemon carry on. So of course I have the keys.

We are standing outside waiting for the shuttle. It’s hot. It’s damn hot and I’m sweating. I am thinking about taking off my tank top it is so hot! My hair is both sticky and frizzy. My suitcase is half falling over. I have my carry on and my purse balanced on the now defunct suitcase, along with all the clothes I have removed. My cute white pants are getting wet and dirty at the bottom. I start digging through my carry on and the stomach feeling starts. I did not see the keys when I was packing. I would have remembered seeing the keys. Still I go through all the pockets on the bag. Nothing. Now I am starting to feel a bit queezy. And Ed says, I hope this isn’t a repeat of New York. That was another almost travel disaster caused by me. When we switched hotels I left our tickets (yes, back in the days of printed airline tickets) in the nightstand. And much like this time, I would have insisted that I take care of the tickets. The situations actually have a lot in common, including panic, dread and tears, all on my part. The good thing about the problem in New York was that I was able to go over to the hotel and insist that they go to the room and find the tickets. On the phone they said no, they couldn’t do that. However when I was in front of them probably close to a complete meltdown they happily went and retrieved the tickets. If only this one resolved so well.

At some point I stop digging through the bag, because in my head I am pretty sure I put the keys in the box with the keys to the rental house. And since I can’t remember seeing the keys, I am starting to figure out that I left the keys in that box. Therefore, this morning I mailed the keys to San Diego. I still don’t know for sure, since the woman hasn’t received the box yet, but I really think I mailed the keys. My stomach is saying that I mailed the keys. The stomach is more knowing than the mind.

We get to the hotel and check in. We get to our room and it isn’t what I booked, we have two double beds. They don’t have any king rooms so we are stuck there for the night. I proceed to empty everything, my purse, my carry on and my now scrap suitcase. I go through everything. Once. Twice. Three times. No keys. Stomach turning over. Ed graciously offers to check to see if they are in the truck, even though we both know they aren’t. He also gets the book with the roadside assistance information. He reads the part about keys: if you lose your keys or they are stolen you need to have your vehicle towed to the nearest Ford dealership and they can re-key the ignition. This is not recommended as it is extremely expensive. Fuck. (this was not the actual beginning of my poor language, that happened about an hour before). So we call roadside assistance and sure enough, that is the only solution. Stomach now cramping.

Our plan had been to go to our favourite pizza place, Fat Lorenzo’s for dinner. We both had salads at lunch in anticipation. So I call and sure enough, they can deliver us a pizza. Probably the only good move I made all evening. Pizza was fantastic. I ate in my bed, Ed in his. Ordinarily eating pizza in bed in a hotel with my husband would have been a very good evening. Not tonight. Ed is quiet. I am blabbing on about I can’t believe that I would have done this, blah, blah, blah. You know that annoying talk that just goes over and over an already helpless situation, that makes it more painful. Yeah, I did that for about two hours.

And I really can’t believe it. I keep all the stuff because I am organized. And I pay close attention to the details. I check. I double check. I check compulsively at times. I am not one of those people who get somewhere and are like ‘uh, I forgot my...’. I am not that person. I am careful. I am responsible. I don’t lose things. Ever. I cannot think of the last thing that I lost. I know where things are. Or so I thought. Now I am the moron who didn’t keep track of the one set of keys we had for the truck, which were in my possession. I am so thick that I mailed the keys to the truck to the woman I rented a house from. I am a complete dimwit to not see that when I put the other set of keys in the box, that the keys to the truck were also there. I am now officially all the names I call other people.

Seriously, this isn’t a single key that would be easy to miss. Don’t I wish! It has the key, the leather tag, the door opener and the command start! It’s big! There is no possible way that a person with a functioning mind could not see the keys in a small box! It just isn’t possible. Which changes my view of myself (although admittedly, probably only temporarily). I am now the moron who mailed the truck key. And ruined our evening plans. And is going to completely ruin the next day, which will involve a tow truck, a big bill and a giant waste of time. Assuming that the dealership can fit us in and that they are able to get the truck re-keyed.

There is no way to improve the evening, it’s shot. I have totally screwed up. I don’t like to pretend things are fine when clearly they aren’t, and clearly, it is my fault. Ed is being so nice about it, not saying anything, and going with the ‘we will fix it in the morning, there is nothing we can do now.’ Ah, I can worry. I can continue to have a giant ball of muck in my gut. I can replay the key in the box over and over. The room screw up, with the two double beds, turns out to be a bit of a gift.

And I had so many excellent travel observations that the blog was going to focus on: men in jean shorts, a cowboy hat carrier, a camouflage backpack and a Bluetooth ear piece...and mostly strange things Ed did. Oh, not a good day.

Ed has affectionately named today’s blog ‘Atonement’.

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