8/6: London to...(eventually)...Home

Today was our big day to “jump the pond” back home—that’s a shameless plug for AT & David’s blog about their time in Europe, found HERE. We awoke at 5am, deflated and packed up our hosts’ air mattress, then composed ourselves for the 5:30 car ride to Heathrow. We thought we’d successfully avoided any disturbing noise, but nevertheless both David and AT awoke to bid us goodbye. They were great hosts—if any of our mutual friends are reading this, know that you can totally mooch from them at any date and hour of the day.

ABOVE: How could you NOT take advantage of those faces?

Upon our arrival at Heathrow, the complications began. Passing through Customs proved slightly problematic, with us having to explain the purpose of our 12 hour layover at an unspecified location. After passing through security and checking in, we were singled out for another bag search (again, likely due to our layover). No matter—our 7:50 flight was delayed 50 minutes with no apology or explanation.

We were relieved once we finally boarded, taxied, and lifted off. We had an eight hour, fifteen minute flight with which to doze, to decompress, and to prepare ourselves for American life once more. Many of those moments, however, were undermined by surly stewardesses who’d apparently left their customer service back in London. One particularly ill-informed flight attendant improperly insisted that we fill out separate Customs Declaration forms. The short version is that we were married, but Annie hadn’t obviously changed her name before our honeymoon departure, so this stewardess said we couldn’t legally declare together. As a result, we declared our purchased belongings on separate forms—which was bad. More on that momentarily.

We landed very late in Chicago, which resulted in horribly long lines at Passport Control with other international flights that had arrived at the same time. I’d guess that line was at least an hour long, and by the time we reached the desk our connecting flight had already departed. From Passport Control we moved on to Customs, where our separate Declaration forms raised suspicion with the Customs official, who required us to show him receipts for all our purchases (the cuckoo clock, Annie’s purse and wallet, etc.) and explain why we’d declared so much when we had so little to show for it. Twenty minutes later, we finally helped him realize that the flight attendant instructing us was a mental lightweight, and we were allowed to pass after repacking all of our luggage.

ABOVE: The origins of madness.

At the first ticket desk we reached, we had another high-stress line to wait through, including a brief altercation where a woman behind us shoved Annie forward when she didn’t sprint ahead two steps. Have we mentioned that our patience with the rest of humanity was wearing thin at this point of our journey?

The ticket desk woman cleared us for the next available flight to Nashville at 1:15, assuring us that the bags we rechecked would arrive there with us. She, of course, was incorrect. We had to literally sprint from Terminal 5 (the international terminal) on one side of Chicago O’Hare to the United Airlines domestic hub located FOUR TERMINALS AWAY. Our gate was LITERALLY the last one in the terminal, and Annie had to breathlessly holler at me to sprint ahead and hold the gate for her when I got there. This may be a good time to inform you that we didn’t have the time to re-dress ourselves after passing through the security checkpoint, so my pants were falling down and I was holding both our IDs and belts when I arrived, sweat-soaked, wild-eyed, and breathless, at our gate as the door was closing.

Me: “Please! (gasp, gasp) Don’t close (gasp) the door! (gasp) We’re here!”
Official: “It’s okay, you made it. Are you James?”
Me: “Yes! (wheeze) Please-let-us-on! (gasp)”
Official: “Who are you with?”
Me: “My wife. (gasp) Annie. (gasp)”
Official: “And where is she?”
Me: “She’s coming. (wheeze) We had to sprint. (gasp) Look, here’s her belt.” [Places belt on counter]
Official: “Sir, okay, thank you, I see that. How long do you think she will—”
Me: “—Here she comes now!"
Official: "That woman running up the concourse?"
Me: "Yes, that's her. Here’s her ID. Please let us on. We want to go home.”
Official: “Okay, it’s fine. I see her. You’ve both made it."
Me: "Thank you!"
Official: "Have a safe flight home.”
Annie: “(Gasp, wheeze, gasp, wheeze)”

Upon boarding and being seated, an intercom announcement immediately terrified us: The flight was overbooked, and five people would be chosen at random and required to disembark. Not asked--required. We looked at each other, grasped each other's hand, and waited to be kicked off our plane...

...Fortunately, we were spared. As soon as we were airborne and drink service was offered, I ordered us two beers and would've paid a fortune for them. We deserved them!

We were both obviously miserable for most of the flight to Nashville, but at least we’d made it. We were seriously dehydrated, lightheaded, and angry, and my boxers were wedged in places that would require a miner’s helmet and the jaws of life to retrieve. But, we were headed home!

ABOVE: Sometimes cartoons are completely accurate.

We landed in Nashville in the mid- to late afternoon, and, due to our unreliable transportation issues, our family was not in Nashville awaiting us. That was no matter, really, because we soon learned the awful truth we’d dreaded: our bags hadn’t made the trip. For all we knew, the incompetent ticket woman in Chicago may have sent our luggage to Seattle. That got Annie to worrying about what could’ve potentially been lost forever. The cuckoo weights—all fifteen pounds of them, the very ones I’d lugged across Europe since mid-July—may have been irretrievable, which would have stung me bitterly with irony.

ABOVE: Eeny, meanie, miney, moe...

I spent maybe half an hour at the Lost Luggage desk with a (fortunately) kind and adept fellow who tried to trace our luggage, offered recompense for our inconvenience, and promised to personally get our bags to Chattanooga in the next two days. After our day’s travel hijinx, it was relieving to see someone express compassion and assistance.

When our families arrived, we had a wonderful reunion with them and our dogs, who’d made the cut for the ride to Nashville. Annie’s dad, sadly, had not—there wasn’t enough room for all of them, us, and our bags! Too bad we had no way of knowing our bags weren’t going home with us, as that left plenty of room in the vehicle.

Annie and I didn’t know what time zone our bodies were on, nor did we know where our belongings were, nor how badly we stank, but boy, it was great to be back! Our first stop on the way home was for some good old-fashioned American gutbombs at the closest Krystal. Ah, the taste of delectable greasy goodness!

We shared the misery of our travel obstacles on the ride home, then reunited with Annie’s dad back in Chattanooga. Then the six of us--Annie and me, Christy & Mary, Carolyn & Wayne--dined on a home-cooked meal under our roof.

If I told you we lost sleep over our misplaced luggage, I’d be lying. We slept like rocks.

Post Script: Our luggage arrived safely at the Chattanooga airport two nights later with only a couple notifications from the TSA that the bags had been searched. Good thing we’d left the Big Ben Bomb & Shot Glass keepsake back in London.