I was having one of those days. A day when I was in no mood to deal with people. Didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to see them, didn't want to be around them. I have been fairly lucky to set up my life such that when I have one of these days I sequester myself in my office with my dog. I don't like feeling this way and I don't like inflicting a cranky, negative Heather on the world. I gotta keep up my, I am so awesome, invincible, rah-rah-rah personal brand, you know on the blog, ya know!
So anyway, after an awesome day of London shopping, I had to cram everything into my suitcases (which I barely fit stuff into), then lug all this LUGgage off to the train station to catch the high speed Eurostar to the continent. When I arrived, the train station was a madhouse. Crazy lines, people cutting in line, rolling these huge suitcases everywhere, people bumping into each other, no awareness of space and people behind them. For 3 seconds my blood boiled and then I looked around. There was nothing to do.
I watched the guy in front of me become red-faced with his wife and two kids. They had waited until the last minute to get to the station. I watched him try to bully the woman keeping order among the chaos into letting him cut in line. Her response was pure pleasure, straight British to the point. Unbudging. The Europeans sure can talk straight. (How refreshing!)
Finally I'm on the train. (All my luggage lugging reminds me of a train ride 20+ years ago with my Mom and Grandmother. Between us, we had 7 huge pieces! And all this, before roller bags.) I'm engrossed with my latest iphone app purchase, zoning out to my downtempo mix. Across the aisle from me is a family - I think they are Americans. But I'm not feeling chatty. (Come to think of it, until the conference call this afternoon, it had been more than a week since I've heard an American accent. Even the English non-native speakers speak that damn British English!) American family is crashed out across the tables. It's a bright sunny English afternoon. Which means the sun is rising over the US. Jetlag. I wonder if they are from Austin, California, New York, Colorado - the time zones in my phone.
I'm watching the countryside. It looks strangely familiar. (More on that later.) We cross under the Channel, then we're in Calais for a short stop. Sleeping family starts awake... the teenage son is dragging his heels... almost wanting to go back to sleep. I'm watching detachedly. There is one bag they missed. I call out, but the teenage son is intent on getting off the train. I jump up, grab the bag from under the table and run down the aisle. The family is off the train and down the platform. I wonder if I can catch them before the train leaves. But the train attendant sees me (running down the aisle) - understands - and takes the bag from my hand at the train door. She calls out to the family and they turn, return and get the bag from her. I see their sighs of relief as I return to my seat at the window.
That would have really sucked, hm? Leaving your bag on the train. Who knew what important things, money, passport, clothes, phone, were in it. Hours of heartache, frustration and anxiety - the possibility evaporating in a moment. Along with my cranky mood. I was left only with a feeling of relief and the view of European fields, wind turbines spinning, black and white cows frolicking and another day living.
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