Coming To America

Yesterday was December 17th, a very important day for me. I came home for Christmas. I am here now, sitting on my bed. Everything is beautiful. It’s 7:15 in the morning, there’s snow on the ground and decorating the houses, there’s a fire in the stove of our living room, there’s a cat snuggled up next to me, and my entire family (Levi included) is asleep downstairs. We had a wonderful family reunion last night, staying up until it was Midnight and we could no longer keep our eyes open. However, in the course of coming to America I had a very dramatic and interesting thing occur to me, and to this thing I wish to commit this post.

Yesterday I got up at 5:30 in the morning, threw on some clothes, dragged a backpack downstairs (as quietly as possible), and was driven to the airport by my very wonderful host mom. We arrived at Schipol Airport at around 6:45, which was right on time according to flight regulations. I was to be flying out at 9:45 and they inform passengers that for security reasons we must be at the airport three hours before departure. So there I was, going to check in with my backpack and my two big bags full of clothes, gifts, and stuff. When I went to check in there was a nice young fellow there who helped me. He brought me over to a machine where I could automatically check in. All he needed was my passport. Easy. I pulled from my backpack the folder containing all of my important documents. I reached in…and the passport wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere in there. I began to panic, calmly said, “just one moment please”, and crouched down beside my pack. I looked in the part that the folder came out of. No passport. I began to pray out loud (I’m sure the fellow figured out at this point that I wasn’t exactly calm after all…I was on the verge of freaking out), “God please let it be in here. Pleeaaaaaaasssssssssseeee!!!! Let it be in here!!! I KNOW I brought it!!! I checked in my front pouch of my pack. Nothing. I opened up the last pouch of my pack and saw…my wallet. Suddenly, I remembered that I’d put my passport in my wallet because I knew it was a safe place where I was sure to not lose it and where I was also sure to remember to find it (what a joke!). I pulled it out, looked at the guy, said, “Oh yeah, I put it in a safe place.” He commented, “Too safe” (he was laughing at me at this point). We did the whole computer check in process (during which my pack fell over twice and I had to set it upright again). We finished, I said good-bye to Danielle, and my bag fell over again. The guy looked at me and said, “That’s three times now!” He laughed at me, I laughed at me…actually, we all laughed at me, and then went separate ways. I was now free to drop off my two large bags, go through the passport check, and wait for two hours before I could go through security check and board my plane.

I passed the two hours by playing Sudoku and watching people. I drank a coffee. I watched the snow fall outside (funny, we almost never get snow in Holland and it was snowing as I was waiting and anticipating my going home, where I’d see snow). Finally, the time came for the security check. I was checked, as was everyone else. We boarded the plane late and took off late. I was starting to worry a bit because I only had an hour layover in Dublin, Ireland, in which time I’d have to make it to a connecting flight. However, I realized that there was also a one-hour time difference between Amsterdam and Dublin and I decided that it’d all work out fine.

When we arrived in Dublin I stood up before I was allowed and started walking forward (I broke the rules, but I’ll explain why right now). As we taxied to the walkway I looked at my watch. It said it was 11:10. My boarding pass said that my connecting flight boarded at 11:00 and took off at 11:30. So when that plane was pulling up to the walkway I pulled out of my seat and jet as far as possible down the aisle. I got a little ways before I was entirely blocked. I felt my heart panicking. I had to get off of that plane!!! I tapped the shoulder of the man in front of me and asked if I could get in front of him, seeing as I was about to miss my next flight. He gave me a funny look and said, “Sure, but I don’t think you’ll get very far.” I looked beyond him, said, “Good point” and stayed in back of him. The aisle was constipated with passengers that wanted off the plane. So, I waited, not very patiently. The man was also kind enough to inform me that if I tell the Flight Attendant that she’d be able to phone ahead to my plane peoples and let them know that I was coming and that they needed to hold the plane for me. When I reached her I told her I was about to miss my plane and asked if she could call ahead to them and tell them I’m coming. She pointed up the gangway and said that there was a ground crew just above that could help me. I thanked her, threw my back pack on my back, and ran up the gangway. I ran and ran. I got to an escalator that was jam packed with people. I ran up the stairs because it was faster. I ran some more, through the hallways. I got to the passport desk. I asked the man there if he could call ahead to my plane somehow and let them know I was on my way. He looked at my ticket and told me, “Oh that’s a big plane. They never leave on time. You’ll make it. Just go…” and then he gave me a rapid succession of directions that I can’t remember anymore. I know that it involved the words “left”, “exit”, and “up”. Which order they went in, I’m not sure.

I ran! I ran as long as I could, until I could run no longer. When I went through the door that had “Exit” written on it I found myself in the arrivals hall. There were a few hundred people behind barriers looking at me. I turned around and looked at the door that said, “Do Not Enter”. I walked towards it…and said, “Excuse me sir!” There was a cop. I breathlessly and quickly explained the situation, commenting that I just came out those doors, believed I had gone the wrong direction, and asked if I could please go back in because I WAS ABOUT TO MISS MY FLIGHT! He pointed in the opposite direction and said, “Just go up those stairs. That’s where the departing flights are”. I thanked him very quickly and took off in that direction! There were very few people on the escalator, so I ran up it, weaving in and out of them. Some saw me coming and stepped aside, further increasing their own safety. I got to the top of the stairs…and there was the security check. OH NO!!!!! I ran through the queue line until there were people walking too slowly in front of me. I did what their son did and I cut under the barrier (broke another rule). While passing through the door into the next the room the guard noticed my heavy breathing. He commented, “Yeah, smoking, huh?” And I returned over my shoulder, “No! I gotta go!!!!” and I kept on my not so merry way. I reached the back of the line for security check. I stood there and sprung on my toes a few times, and decided there was no way that I was waiting for all of these people to go first. I said to the gentleman in front of me, “I’m about to miss my flight!!! May I please skip ahead of you?” He looked at me and said, “sure.” I repeated this process some four or five times, making it to the front in about 20 seconds. I ran to the next available metal detector and operator of it. I pulled my laptop from my bag (grr…lost five seconds with that one!). I threw my jacket onto the conveyor belt and basket. I turned to run through the metal detector and the man who was grabbing my stuff said, “No. I need more from you.” I turned, took my scarf off, and continued to go through the detector, all in one smooth and easy motion. He stopped me, “NO! I need your shoes, please.” “Oh, my shoes? Huff, puff. Ok.” They came off, went into the bin, I ran through the detector, grabbed my laptop, shoved it n my bag, threw on my shoes, coat and scarf, and took off full speed ahead.

I was able to learn which gate I was taking off from, at some point in time. I think it was around there somewhere. I ran to my right, through the pretty little store area that was FULL of people. I dogged around them, going left, right, left, and right. I went up ANOTHER escalator. I can’t remember where I ran after that, but I ended up in a hallway that led to my gate. I was still running. I arrived at my gate. There were about five people standing at the desk and there were absolutely NO passengers to be seen. I didn’t ask questions. When I ran up my hand was outstretched to one of the men, handing him my ticket and passport, no questions asked. He said thanks and they let me through (they must’ve seen the wild look in my eyes…they were very nice). I ran down the stairs (why do they do that anyway…make you run upstairs just so that you can run back downstairs?). I ran through the gangway (that makes a lot of noise). When I got through the door of the aircraft there were about six crew members standing there. They looked at me, I handed my ticket, they said, “you’re from out of Amsterdam, right? Ok, your seat is just that way.” I thanked them, walked to seat number 27A (I’m glad it wasn’t in the back of the plane, then the entire aircraft would have seen that I was the delay!), and sat down, heaving and gasping for air. I made it. I looked at my watch. It was 11:32.

That began a nice and easy 35 minute flight to Shannon, where we had a stop over. We had to do a U.S. Customs game, and then were finally on our way to Boston. Seven hours later we were landing on American soil. I was airsick, had a pounding headache, and just couldn’t wait to be in the arms of my mother and father. We got off of the plane and entered the baggage area, where I was able to wait for my baggage.

50 minutes later, all of the baggage was gone, and I didn’t have mine. I’d expected as much. I’d figured that if I’d run through the city of Dublin and just barely made my flight then there was no way that my luggage, which can’t run and didn’t know how to get to the aircraft, would make it. No way. But still, knowing that and kind of expecting and figuring on it, I was still disappointed. On the verge of tears, but holding them back splendidly, I asked a Flight Attendant what to do, and she pointed me to the Transfer desk. I went through customs, gave the man my little blue paper stating everything I took with me into America out of Holland, commented jokingly that the paper didn’t really apply because it was all still in Dublin, and went to the Transfer desk, no questions asked. I will briefly mention here that I was terribly tempted to break another rule and go out the exit into the greeting area to tell my parents that I was alive and would be right out, but I decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to get back in the wrong way. I’d probably get tackled and hand-cuffed or something, and that would’ve been the straw to break the camels back. So I wisely went straight to the transfer desk.

There at the transfer desk many questions were asked, but they were good questions. The lady, Mary, was very nice. She remembered my last name when she saw it, saying that she’d heard something about me but couldn’t remember what. She got all of my information, a description of the bags, I signed the paper and was free to go. It was 4:15. My flight had been scheduled to land at 3:15. I had to find my parents. I walked to the nearest exit, and went to where they would’ve been standing. I was so scared that they maybe went off trying to figure out what happened to me, or even worse, went home thinking I’d missed my flight. But they were there, and they gave me the big hug that I needed right then. I was still extremely sick and my head was pounding, but I was with mom, dad, and my Grammy Shirley. I was in America, and I was going home.

We bought water, Tylenol, and then brought Grammy Shirley home. After we left her house I felt entirely better. My headache was gone and my stomach had stopped churning (must have been that cheesecake I ate…yummmm). And we went home, where we were reunited with Levi, Laurel, and Julie. Levi was a surprise for the family. He wasn’t supposed to be home for Christmas, but was there when we got back from my adventure. What a splendid ending for an exceptionally odd day.