Longest Round Trip Segment Ever–I’m back in Spain!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. That is correct. As of Sunday 3:05 PM GMT I am back in Spain!

In an attempt to confuse everyone, when I left the country in October, I left on a round-trip ticket carting me from Malaga, up to London and back to New York. 6 Months later, I’m finally on my return ticket.

I’m not going to lie and tell you that I wasn’t a bit nervous as I packed my giant suitcase up in Tulsa with all my crap in tow and started the haul back here, but I definitely didn’t imagine it would have this many pitfalls. I will outline them in bullet point form because A) it is 3:00 AM on a red-eye to London from NY and I am tired and B) because I have a short attention span and like bullet points. Deal.

• March 1 – I bought a nice WHEELY bag at TJ Maxx for $100.
• March 2 – I took the bag on it’s maiden journey and one of the wheels fell off. I am now down to three.
• March 12 – feeling ambitious and finding that the bag functioned well on three wheels, I packed it full of 100lbs of CRAP and set of from Tulsa to NYC.
• Upon arriving in NYC. Distribution of weight was off. Two more wheels broke. I now have a wheely bag with 1 wheel weighing in at 100lbs. Success.
• March 18 – Downsized into one large almost dead backpack (bless it)

Now, the details of the day of March 19th are more of a narrative so I’m switching back. Because it’s a little bit more dramatic this way, and I like drama.

So I left my mother waving at Penn Station with my carry on and my large 50.5lb backpack a solid 3 hours before my plane from NY JFK was scheduled to take off for London. After about 30 minutes on the A train, the train stops abruptly and we sit. For 20 minutes. After finally pulling up to a station, we are asked to get off and take the next train. Whatever. That’s what a cushion is for.

At the Howard Beach subway station, I depart the A train and transfer to the JFK Skylink at precisely 6:15. I ride the Skylink around (of the 8 terminals, I was in the last, number 8) and when the train pulls up to Terminal 8 after having made an entire loop around the airport, the doors just sit there. They don’t open. I see the people getting off the cars on either side of me, but no. Our car will not open. We bang, we yell. Nothing happens. The train picks up and begins it’s trek around the circle again.

It is now 6:45 PM.

I run to the desk where a woman tells me I cannot check in at the express counter. Another man informs me I must wait in an incredibly long looking line. So I do. After PRECICELY 15 minutes, I decide dude has no idea what he’s talking about and follow the stream of people to express check-in. At 7:06 PM I ask a second dude if I can check in there (“umm, yes, of course, why couldn’t you?”, he replies) and dude swipes my passport. Unfortunately, being that my flight leaves at 8:05 PM, I am within the hour window and can no longer take this flight. Literally a minute late.

Now, dude #2 informs me, I must go wait in a ticket line to buy a new ticket. So I go to ticket line. When I get to the counter, chick tells me she’ll rush my bag on the flight if I run to the gate.

I convince homedude #3 at the security counter that I look nice enough for him to let me go in the first class line (the regular security line was about 100 people long) and homedude buys it.

I escape security. Run to my gate as they are making final boarding call.

Success.

EXCEPT. Since I late checked my bag, I have to get off the plane in London, go through customs and immigration, pick up my bag at the carousel and then RE-CHECK it at the same damn counter all the way to Spain. Balls.

But whatever. I was just glad I made it on.

And the moral of the story is.

Make sure if you’re going on a trip, be lucky.

By the time this post goes live. I will be on a beach. So eff it. I’ll check the bag 4 times as long as it arrives in Spain in a piece or two or three.