Puerto Rico Airport = Purgatory

I'm sure that Puerto Rico is lovely.  But the San Juan International airport is one big waiting room of unhappy people... exactly how I imagine Purgatory.

As far as I can tell, everyone there is going somewhere else for vacation and SJU is that stop in between where you are from and where you want to be.

Or you are on your way home and don't want to be, so you are prolonging the inevitable.  Everyone saunters slowly down the terminal with the corners of there mouth turned down in the universal sign for a frown.  All of the walls are painted gray and everything smells of fast food pizza. 

2 hours there feel like an eternity of nothingness... Purgatory much?

Strangest Thanksgiving

When I lived in Rome I wasn't really ever homesick, I certainly missed little things like Mexican food, driving, a proper queue.  And of course I missed big things, family and friends.  But I wasn't really homesick.  But there are 2 days that an American living abroad feels a little more homesick than normal - Fourth of July and Thanksgiving.

My funniest, saddest, and strangest Thanksgiving ever was that year living abroad.  My English friends had gone back to England, my American roommate had gone home, my other American friend had to work (being a Thursday and all), and my Irish roommate had a date.  I was sad that I was all alone, and wasn't going to be feasting away.

That afternoon when I got home, feeling down, my Irish roommate had created her version of "American night."  She cued up all of our Friends DVDs to Thanksgiving episodes, went to the store and bought "American food": Peanut Butter (which is expensive and hard to find in Italy, so a rare treat) and Peanut M&Ms.   Her "American drink" was to my surprise Heineken.  When I asked her why Heineken she said it was bottled by Anheuser Busch.

So I sat there all by myself, watch 4 or 5 Friends episodes and eating my M&Ms right out of the Peanut Butter jar.  To this day, I can't think of Thanksgiving without that memory.  She turned a sad day, one of my funniest and most memorable days of the whole experience. 

In her honor, here is my favorite Friends Thanksgiving episode.  Enjoy.  

You Get More Flies With Manure

As I have stated many times I am directionally challenged. I have tried “google maps”, “mapquest”, iPhone maps, gut instinct, and pulling over and asking.

Recently, I was visiting a family member in the hospital (stressful to say the least) and just wanted no muss no fuss directions, so I paid the $15 per day, for four days mind you, to get the GPS in my rental car.

Of course it was broken. Of course I ended up 30 miles in the wrong direction (impressive since the hospital was less than 5 miles from the airport). And of course, I was more stressed than ever (insert expletives here).

You may get more flies with honey than vinegar, but as Sheldon says, “you can get even more flies with manure.” So I was all amped up to argue with the rental agent when I returned the GPS at 4:30 am today. My arguments were prepared: 1) it couldn’t even get me out of the airport; 2) it never knew where I was, indicating that I had reached my destination while on a highway going 65 mph; and 3) that I wasn’t shown how to use the device.

But, when I got to the ticket counter at 4:30 am a lovely Amanda was waiting for me. I handed her the keys and the contract (waiting for my turn to complain).  She asked,  "How was everything with the car?" I replied the car was great, but I had problems with the GPS. She put everything down, looked me in the eye and said, “Oh no, tell me what happened.” I simply stated that it hadn’t worked from the first day, and she said “would you like a full refund?” The end. No hassles, no “you’ll have to talk to my manager,” no “that’s not our policy,” nothing. She was helpful, attentive, and expedient in the solution. She apologized for the inconvenience and took care of everything.

I am an avid letter writer… both for the good and the bad of customer service. But Amanda deserves not only a letter, but a Gold Star for she reminded me that a little honey can go a long way.

A Little Bathroom Humor

I recently had a 6 hour flight from the east coast to the west coast and had this toilette as my view.  It was a new Airbus with an additional toilette in the middle of the plane.  At first I was dreading it and then it got me thinking about the Airplane Toilette, and all the things that are unique to it.

First of all - The attendant button.  How desperate do you have to be to call for a flight attendant to help you?  And if you did ask for help, how do the flight attendants choose who has the job of "checking on you"?   Draw straws?  And, if people use this button, why aren't there attendant buttons in other bathrooms, i.e. movie theaters, retail stores, or gas stations.

Secondly - The lack of water for hand washing.  Why can't the water stay on in the sinks?  15 seconds of water is not enough for anyone who is properly washing their hands to get them clean.  Please give me at least the 30 seconds of water recommended by the CDC.

Thirdly - The size.  As previously mentioned my boyfriend is 6'6" so I often think about tall people.  How do they stand in there?  Is it just one big balancing act?

Fourth - Timing.  Why does EVERYONE need to wait until the end of the movie and go at the exact same time... do they not know that 50 other people are also going at the end of the movie?  And if you do wait to go at the end of the movie please do not read over my shoulder or look at how I am doing on the crossword puzzle.

Finally - The flush.  Wow what a flush!  I used to think that maybe the wooosh was as much about height as it was about the actual toilette - I thought maybe someone had done the math and realized that if airplanes were just letting it spray from 34,000 feet it wouldn't have a negative effect on the people below.  But no - it is a vacuum.  According to Geek Patrol, "Airplane toilets use an active vacuum instead of a passive siphon."

Clearly I'm not the only one who finds airplane toilettes an opportunity to ponder.  The Blog "1,000 Awesome Things" wrote all about the Awesomeness of the Airplane Flush.  Out of 1,000 Awesome things they list Airplane toilets as #975.  Check it out - and enjoy all of their other awesome things. 

Directionally Challenged

We moved on Friday... in 3 days I have made 4 trips around the city.  And have gotten lost 4 times! 

I kid you not, if my gut says to turn right, the destination is usually to the left.  I have ended up on the wrong highway, parallel streets to my destination (and wondering why I'm not crossing my street), and south when I meant to go north. 

To quote my friends in England: "She couldn't find her way out of a paper bag." 

Is this the trade-off for Vehicular Narcolepsy?  

Whoopsy Daisy

Today I took a trip. A short one. About three-feet. Okay, I fell.

It was one of those slow motion moments when your left foot stumbles, your right tries to correct, but does so haphazardly, and then your left goes forward and you slowly fall directly on your face.  You know those moments?

I fell while walking down the jet way to the plane. Coffee in one hand, roller-bag in the other. I fell so hard I tore my pants at the knee, and am now sitting on the plane with a scraped knee (like a kindergartner) and a bruised ego.

If you haven’t fallen as an adult, it is a very embarrassing experience.  It seems that people no longer stop to help you up off the ground (I don’t know if that is the age we live in, or what happens when you get older?). The guy behind me was laughing hysterically as he dragged his bag over me, so he could be sure to get his seat first. All I could say was: “Whoopsy Daisy” and “that’s okay, buddy, I’m fine. Sorry to have been in your way.”

5 trains, 5 hours, and only 5 miles - Part 1

Let me preface by saying, I am a huge advocate of public transport – I love the ease, I find it less stressful, I love that I listen to music and read a book and people watch all on my way somewhere else.

In all fairness this story is 50% my fault and 50% San Francisco Muni’s fault. One fateful Friday, my new landlord sent me a text saying “I’m at the apartment can you come over?” And when the landlord calls, you hop. So I hoped up from my desk, on the opposite side of the city, with plans of taking the N and thought I'd be there in 45 minutes. I knew I had a conference call at 2:00 pm, so would have to rush.

The N Judah picks up maybe 25 feet from my current apartment and drops off 100 yards from my new apartment. And a mere $2 will buy you a round trip if you come back in four hours. What's not to love about that?

So I walk to the platform, watch the T train go by and wait for the next N train to come. I get on the phone with my sister, who is simply hilarious, and start chatting. A train pulls up and I hop on, still distractedly talking. We said goodbye as we went underground. I pull out my book and start reading. About 15 minutes later, I realize that we have been underground a lot longer than normal – I look up to double check and Oh NO! I’m on the T, and have gone 4 stops beyond the last place to transfer back to the N.

I hop off at the next stop, run around the station and wait for the next train to come to take me back to Van Ness, so I can transfer to my train line. A train comes four minutes later, but the doors won’t open. We are waiting to get on, passengers are waiting to get off, and the Muni staff is running up and down the platform trying to figure out what is wrong.

After seven minutes they manually open all the doors to let people out. Then the Muni manager tells me to get in… I asked “what about the doors?” He replied, “get in” so I did. What could I do? Waiting for the next wouldn’t do me any good, it was stuck behind this one.

For the next four stops we spent up to 10 minutes with the Muni guys running up and down the platforms, opening and closing the doors. Finally, I get to Van Ness, then on to the N, on to my stop and up to my landlord.  See part 2 for how I got home...

5 trains, 5 hours, and only 5 miles - Part 2

Continued from Part 1... Now I’m so late there is no way I can make it home for my conference call, so I got to a park, that happens to be a dog park, and sit on bench and call in. I tell my co-worker I’m in a dog park, but that the dogs are mostly catching balls and she says she can’t hear anything and the client will never know (the client is suppose to think I am sitting in my office).

While on my call a small French bulldog jumps onto the bench and then proceeds to curl up in my lap. And his owner is just watching! I push the dog off (much to the dismay of the owner who is now giving me dirty looks) and proceed with my call, acting as if nothing happened.

About 10 minutes later a puppy basset hound walks over, his ears so long he is about to step on them, and he is too adorable so I give him a quick pet, then back to the call. Clearly he disagrees. He starts barking at me to pet him again. I’m saying sorry to the client, and trying to explain, my colleague is laughing and the only thing I can say is: “you never miss a call with a client.”  After a group laugh, we go about our call and wrap up. As we’re saying goodbye my phone dies, I run into a restaurant frantic and ask if they have a payphone, she looks at me like I asked if they have a time machine and says, very slowly, “noooo” while shaking her head. I say I’m desperate for a phone and another patron offers hers. I call and explain; they are fine.

So I grab a sandwich from the restaurant (the least I could do) and walk up to the N platform to ride home. The sign says the next one will be here in 20 minutes, and the one after that will be here 5 minutes later – clearly there has been a problem and they are all stacked up. So I sit down, on the concrete, and eat my sandwich.

Twenty minutes later the N comes and it is so jammed with people they are literally hanging onto each other. The 20-minute wait put me over my four hours, so I had to buy another $2 ticket.

We go one stop and the driver says, “the subway has been closed, everyone get off and walk to Church Street to pick up another train.” That stop was so close I could have thrown my sandwich at it from where I waited! So with 200 other angry passengers I get off and walk through the Castro to pick up a different Muni. I get on the platform with half the angry passengers (about 100 people) and the announcer says, “All trains have been stopped. We don’t know how long.”  Predictable.

Men with flashlights are walking through the subway and all I can think of are scenes from Law & Order – maybe someone jumped, maybe they are looking for a gun, maybe they found a runaway...

Twenty-five minutes later the trains start working again and come to pick us up. When I finally got home, it was 5 hours later, 5 different trains, and only 5 miles round trip.

What Goes Around, Comes Around

Last weekend I was at The Lair (Cal Berkley's alumni camp) to say it is posh camping is an understatement. While no incidents happened this year, it got me thinking about a mishap from last year.

It was my friends 30th birthday and I, and many other people, went up to celebrate. Part of the festivities included a booze cruise on Pinecrest Lake. The booze cruise was simply a small boat, 15 people, and a lot of beer (classy). I was game for the booze cruise, but could only stay for an hour because I had to be back in camp to meet another friend.

So we’re out, we’re swimming, we’re soaking up the sun, and having a grand time. Forty-five minutes later, I start getting ready to head back. This involves simply driving the dingy back to shore.

In case you aren’t familiar with dingys (like me) this is the type that has a stick coming out of the engine with a throttle on it. And to make it go right you have to pull the stick to the left and vice versa. (Sorry, that is my technical definition).  Now, I’ve never driven a dingy before, but how hard could it be, I mean, I can drive a car. The birthday girl gives me a quick lesson: here is how you start it; here is how you turn off the engine.  Very confidently, I hop in and after a few attempts I get it started and sit down to drive.  With 14 people waving goodbye I turn the stick to the left to maneuver around the big boat, but pulled a little too hard and end up going in a 360-degree circle, twice.

I try to correct, and correct a little too much and end up in a 360-degree circle in the opposite direction – three times. Ugh.

Everybody on my boat is laughing so hard that other boats are now staring and laughing as well.

But now I’ve gone in a circle (5 times) and figure I must have the hang of it. And although I’m a little embarrassed I’m actually still confident and think I will be able to do this gracefully.

So, I grab the stick and move slowly forward. Yay! I turn to wave to my applauding friends, and of course move the stick and end up in a circle AGAIN, not once, but twice (as is now my MO). And from that fateful turn, they called going around in circles again and again “pulling a Meghan.”

I managed to get straight, to move across the lake and head for shore… but now, how to dock the thing?

A Crisis of Hip

I have the distinct privilege of being able to stay at some amazing hotels in New York, DC, London, Chicago, LA… recently I was staying a very chic hotel on South Beach. To me, the best way to describe it is "Hip". The décor is hip, the staff is hip, the clientele is hip, and even the food is hip.

I, however, am not hip! Many adjectives have been used to describe me (sadly, both good and bad) but never hip.

So a friend of mine gave me some great advice – channel your inner Will Ferrell. He said: think about Will Ferrell, there is nothing particularly special about him. He is not very attractive (beer belly, hairy, lanky), he is funny but sometimes in that gross way that can leave you more shocked than anything. But he believes he is hip! He isn’t afraid to “go streaking” and he certainly doesn’t hold his freak flag back.

So my friend said: Channel your inner Will Ferrell and let your freak flag fly.

In this very hip hotel, with a very hip staff, and very hip and beautiful customers I walked proudly to the pool in my bikini, high heels, very dark oversized glasses, and large brimmed hat, chanting my inner mantra of “let your freak flag fly!”

Three Rights Don't Make a Left

New Jersey is the only state in the union (or so it seems to me, having done no research on the subject) to have no left turns off major roads.

I was driving from Parsippany to Newark, which should take all of 30 minutes and got lost. If you know me, this isn't a surprise because usually I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag. The GPS only said "invalid PIN", of which I had no pin. So I kept driving straight. You cannot make a left turn or a U-turn to turn around and all the right turns take you to other streets.

My perseverance lead me to "Sopranoville". Out of nowhere popped these huge houses, surrounded by authentic Italian restaurants, with patrons wearing a ton of bling. To my pleasant surprise, Tiffany's headquarters was smack-dab in the middle of Sopranoville. I figured that Audrey Hepburn had Breakfast at Tiffany's, so I pulled in for a dessert of directions at Tiffany's. A little worse for wear, an hour and a half later, and sadly no diamonds to show for it.