Friday, November 29, 2013

my vacation

Last night I was convinced the hotel was burning down. I jumped out of bed, dressed and packed. Heart thumping. Listened for sirens. Nothing. Looked out in the hall, sniffed. Nothing. Wait a minute. Maybe someone was burning popcorn. Maybe it was heater I turned on 2 minutes before the panic. Yeah, it was the heater.

On the plane I sat beside a handsome young man in a white shirt. Italian. A pilot for the airlines. "So if it's turbulent, and you're ok, we're ok, right?" I asked him.

"Right!" His wife was a forensic scientist for the LA police. The LA in California, not our LA Maine.

"Ever see a UFO?" I asked him. He was so kind; smiled at all my questions even though he probably hears them every day.

"My mother-in-law is convinced that I have but I won't tell her. Hey, if I saw one, everyone on the plane would see it too. No, I have not seen one." No kids, but they're trying. She's Italian too, so obviously gorgeous and fashionable in addition to being smart and functional.

So when it got turbulent, "Oh, the pilot said it would be gassy," he said, it got embarrassing. I guess gassy is a pilot term for dropping 100 feet like a roller coaster. Then bumping like a bus on a dirt road in spring. Embarrassing because I felt sweat dripping down my face. My hands dripped too. I grabbed for the barf bag. "Are you Ok?" he asked solicitously.  Obviously not, and he kept talking to me gently, asking me innocuous questions, and generally trying to distract me from the barf bag. I didn't hurl, but it was close.

At the car rental place they quoted me $40 over my deal. I questioned and they knocked it back. This was after a 45 minute wait. I thought the customers might mutiny. "No cars," they told us. How can there be no cars when we reserved them months ago? "You might have to sleep here," they told us.

I hate driving on bridges. I had to drive on a long bridge, a causeway they called it. It was dark, couldn't tell I was on a bridge, so I was fine.

I had to drive through a rotary. I hate rotaries. People always honk at me in rotaries. What's up with that?

I had the GPS, but still. The first time through the rotary I ended up in a marina and had to go back and start again. Second time found some nice restaurants. Third time I managed to exit in the right place and actually found my hotel. It was a 13 hour trip with much anxiety and near-hurling, so it was good to get here.

I took a shower and sat on the narrow balcony. Drank water. I could hear ocean waves and see a dim outline of palm trees. The burning thing, fear of fire, didn't sleep well. Got up to pee a lot. Tried to conserve water, so didn't flush. In the morning I flushed. It stuck. A clog. omg, how embarrassing. I used the ice bucket to dump water into the toilet, hoping it would flush. I filled it to the brim: no luck.

I walked to a convenience store and bought bottles of drinking water. $2 for 6 big bottles. Wow, $3 a bottle at the airport. What a rip, those airport prices.

More ice bucket action, no result.

Left a big tip for the chambermaid and set off exploring. When I got back, hours later, the toilet was still clogged. Well, this is awkward. More ice bucket dumpage. No success.

Hit the beach with sunglasses, new coverup, and good book.

Hours later got back to room. Toilet fixed, lovely! Thank you wonderful hotel people! I really need to chill. I need to stop worrying. I guess that's the point of a vacation.

No comments:

Post a Comment