"I apologise, they are French, Madam"

So anyway as some of you might or might not know, I flew back to London yesterday. And another that some of you also might or might not know is that my baggage went on a mini Parisian holiday without moi. At least it wasn't avec a sticky fingered thief I suppose. ANYWAY, it proved to be a rather stress-free flight - somehow. It was only towards the end the rubbish started happening.

On the first flight, I watched Gattaca, which was surprisingly really good. Then I ate and went to sleep. Woke up with about 4 hours to go and ended up watching Julie and Julia, then the absolutely wonderful and amusing Whatever Works. I burst out laughing multiple times during the movie. Landing in Paris was fine, and I bumbled about with my large carry on backpack throughout the terminal to my next departure gate - getting pulled over for a security check over what turned out to be Cashew Nut Cookies. (I don't actually know how I remained calm over this)

My flight from Paris to London ended up being delayed for 30 minutes. This was because the plane was frozen. The thought of that alone, especially sitting about in the plane, made me inwardly face palm. Something along the lines of "good grief, that's how cold it is". Oddly enough I wasn't stressed out. Just really sleepy and waiting for the plane to take off so I could close my eyes.

We landed in Heathrow 30 minutes late. The landing seemed especially violent and jerking. A real slam-on-the-brakes kind of affair. I actually felt a bit thrown off from my seat. I wonder if this was due to the ice I presume the plane was at least slightly skidding on.

The real nightmare I imagined was that of immigration. Lovely charming gormless British Border Customs, or something along those lines. Watching the students being grilled and yelled at in front didn't really help abate the fear I felt in my heart. I also noted how they were quizzing the of-African-origin students like crazy. My guy had just finished shooing away a family because one of the tweens was still filling out her Immigration card, so I was a bit terrified of him. The grilling was just one of those usual Where do you study, What do you study, For how long sort of things, relatively painless. So I relaxed. HAAAAAH.

Anyway picture me, sitting on my carry on baggage on a cart, watching luggage going round and round. Waiting. For 30 minutes. With every minute getting angrier and angrier and thinking, GOOD LORD MY GRANDMOTHER MOVES FASTER THAN THIS BAGGAGE. Then poof. No more baggage, except some bubblegum pink Hello Kitty hard case shits going round and round. Too embarrassing for even their owners to pick up. (I kept thinking of the Scotsman I met at Paris CDG during the security check, where he laughed when I said I was going to Heathrow, he said "Good Luck". I should have known this was a bad sign)

Pull a baggage guy over. Baggage guy looks annoyed. HELLO IS THERE ANY MORE BAGGAGE COMING FROM FLIGHT AF 1080. He goes to the control room to check. NO THERE IS NO MORE BAGGAGE. I think: WELL YOU TWIT COULDN'T SOMEONE HAVE TAKEN THE BOTHER TO COME TELL US THERE IS NO MORE BAGGAGE COMING OUT AND YOU TWITS HAVE LOST IT? Instead I say: so, what do I do now? Redirected to Claims. More lines. More people. Oh great flying fuck.

SIDENOTE: There were lots and lots of bags lying around all over. All these unclaimed missing wonders. It looked like a Holocaust Museum, where all the owners had been gassed to death. Thousands of gassed dead owners and thousands of unclaimed stacked-against-side-of-wall-uncaringly bags. So much for unattended baggage being cause for alarm anymore.

Meanwhile I talked to the people around me. This man who joined the queue in front of me found his bag in the aforementioned Holocaust pile, wished me good luck and scooted off. The girl behind me, fresh off a holiday from Korea, ended up waiting at the wrong carousel for her stuff. The man behind her, who remained with my most of the way, was thiscloseto snapping. He was very tired, a business traveler, and evidently did not need this shit. He shouted at people who tried to cut the line. He seemed like a really nice man, just having a really bad day. Can't blame him. Meanwhile it took me almost 40 minutes of waiting to finally get a talk to the holders of what must be one of the world's shittiest jobs - Missing Baggage Claims Counter Assistant. Blablabla We'll deliver it by today afternoon, here is your reference number, THANK YOU.

I walked out, was about to blow past the alcohol duty free. Stopped, vaguely recalled someone asking me to help him buy alcohol, thought FUCK IT, and continued walking. 2 hours after I landed in Heathrow airport, I finally walked out. The first thing I did when I saw Sheun was hug him, then I cried.

What a fucking day. And it was just 10:30 am in the morning.

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Anyway to cap off this saga, I came back to Passfield from shopping today at about 5-ish. I went to reception and asked - no bag. I went back to my room and called them. I spoke to some fellow, who was evidently not French. I confirmed that they found my bag and had passed it to the delivery company. As I said Thank You and Goodbye to the man, I thought I heard him say,

"I apologise, they are French, Madam".

before putting down the phone.