We survived, but barely. No, the flight was fine, as long as you don’t count the gajillion kids that were on it; the tight squeeze that is called coach seating; the nasty pillows you have to use when you forget your own and become too tired to care; and the horrific food they serve (BTW it was heated in plastic). I knew I was in trouble when I forgot my snacks. Jay could probably go two days without food and only be mildly concerned; I can hardly go two hours. On top of that, I don’t think I’ve eaten that much white flour since junior high. Goo.
Jay would like me to add that even he thought the food was gross.
Next up: Customs. We were in the front of the pack walking to customs, but then we had to duck into the bathrooms to change our clothes. Apparently Brits don’t think sweatpants are appropriate (for showing we have a suitable amount of money to support ourselves). So I walk into the bathroom (or toilet as they call it here) and realize I have quite the dilemma. First, I have to fit in the stall with a large carry on suitcase and backpack (it was actually less of squeeze than fitting into my seat on the plane). Second, I had to fully open my suitcase to retrieve my suitable outfit. Had I thought this through, I would have put these clothes in my backpack, but I didn’t. I really didn’t. After a moment of panic about putting my suitcase on a public bathroom floor, I remembered I had packed some Clorox wipes in my purse (insert a “Thank God”). I quickly wiped down the toilet seat, let it dry, and plopped my bag down on it. Now comes the tricky part of actually changing in a public restroom — must keep shoes on at all times. I finally made it out of the stall – it was at least 10 minutes – to look at myself in the mirror. Not a pretty sight. If it was my appearance that was going to get me through customs, I was going to get sent home. I finger-brushed my hair, attempted to put on some make-up (turns out powder foundation blows when you’re sweating – I swear it was 85 degrees in that bathroom), and added some lipgloss for good measure. Unfortunately, none of that really helped. I walk out of the bathroom 20 minutes later… Besides the major pain in the A** that it was, we looked ridiculous; who gets off an eight hour overnight flight wearing business casual?
It took us 2.5 hours to get through customs. And either Heathrow isn’t air conditioned or the AC was broken, because the employees were handing out free water. I’m pretty sure airports don’t hand out free anything. It took us so long at customs that our driver left the airport. Awesome.
I’ll be more positive tomorrow. Cheers.