I am standing at the Ryanair desk reminding myself that love does not express itself in violence and I love people, truly, I do- but I do not love this...
I force myself to exit the curricular and frustrating conversation that I'd been attempting to have with the Ryanair agent and I sit in a daze at the Edinburgh airport watching suitcases and children and flight crew and rain.
Think, I need to think...
After about twenty minutes of this kind of dazed, anti-climactic thinking, I stand up with no particular convictions on where to go but I walk until I find someone that looks infinitely more official and human than the lady I had been speaking with. After a brief review of my current predicament, I am pointed to the Swissport desk as they are the big brother so to speak of Ryanair.
I am having more annoying arrhythmia issues, still battling a fever, my anxiety is absolutely tapped, and I am done. I am done with this. So. Done. And I take a deep breath and march my little 5'3 inches of doneness up to the Swissport lady and I launch into my tired spiel of "Please for the love of god, help me..."
It's rather like a volleyball match...
Swissport lady: "I can get you on the Glasgow flight tomorrow at 8:30a..."
Me: "Okay, yes, I understand that but how am I supposed to get to Glasgow?"
Swissport lady: "There's a bus service that can take you to the Glasgow Airport."
Me: "I can't take a bus, I don't think you understand, I have a heart condition, I am not doing very well, and I. CAN. NOT. take the bus..."
Swissport lady: "I have five seats left on this flight, so do you want me to confirm you?"
Me: "Is that really the best you can do for me?"
Swissport lady: "I'm afraid so..."
Me: *Sniffling* "Fine, just do it. I guess I'll be taking the bus. But please, I'm really very ill and I can't spend the night in the airport, please, I am literally begging you to help me, please..."
At this point, we have been volleying for almost forty-five minutes because in between words, I have been gripping the desk whilst trying not to cry- so each one of these exchanges are timed between deep breaths and silence...
I don't know what it is but as that small, strangled please rolls off my tongue, the Swissport lady looks at me and says resolutely, "Okay, let me see what I can do. Come back to me in an hour."
I walk to Starbucks and order a coffee. I resign myself to the 3 hour bus ride to Glasgow and a very long night at the Glasgow Airport.
As my favorite boss Joe used to say to me, suck it up cupcake. Because when life hands you lemons, you take the bus to Glasgow.
I console myself with the fact that at least I'll be on the morning flight to Dublin.
I walk back to the Swissport desk, infinitely more clam than when I left. And as I see the Swissport lady, our eyes meet and then she disappears and I think to myself, this is not good, she's running away from me...
But to my surprise, she actually meets me where I'm standing and tells me her good news. "I have arranged a stay for you at the Travelodge at Glasgow Airport and I have secured you a private car hire and you have dinner and breakfast vouchers at the hotel."
I am so overcome with gratitude that I throw myself at her in a very undignified display of emotion, the Scots are not a hugging lot mind you, and she pats at me in the most utterly amused fashion while I continue to utter, thank you, thank you, thank you...
My Swissport angel walks me to the car hire and I am off to Glasgow.
It is a quicker 2 hour drive sans the bus and before I know it, I have arrived.
I am a bit sad that I am missing a day in Malahide but even so, I find that I am grateful for this unexpected detour.
Edinburgh taught me a few things, and while I am not quite ready to fully articulate the lessons, I know that in the series of near disasters over the last four days, it seems that I have learned something important about myself that I had not known before, something that speaks of an inner capableness that I am quite sure that I never knew existed in my being up to this point.
All in all it is a strange detour, this quiet day in Glasgow. A long day. A day I chose to interpret as the gift of rest.
As the night draws to a close, I am packed and ready for my early morning flight back to Dublin and I crawl into my borrowed bed at the Travelodge at the Glasgow Airport, grateful for the lemons while dreaming of lemonade...
-Jillian Nichole, making lemonade in Glasgow...
No comments:
Post a Comment