Photo of Mr. Lego Pilot and makeupless, very tired, moi.
Hey there!
Here's the next installment of the saga that was my trip to England...
After the whole bit with the cowboy blood (you can read about that here), I marched to the OneWorld Lounge and escaped the madness of random body fluids on public airport transport.
With my mom and sister, we all sat down for a pre-flight snack and waited the two-plus hours for our flight to board.
And then... just as boarding was to start...
The flight was canceled.
*poof*
Not just rescheduled. Totally canceled. (Maintenance issues.)
Apparently, my airplane pilot dad used to say, "Better to be on the ground, wishing you were up there, than up there wishing you were down here."
Things got a little nutty while a full plane of people worked to reschedule flights.
Not going to lie. There were moments where I questioned if our trip to England was meant to end in... Dallas.
But we sallied forth and got our flight rescheduled. They were ready to fix us up at the Motel 6 (I'm being so for real right now) and then the next day we'd fly to Boston. There we would wait four hours, and then fly to London. There we would wait another four hours. And then on to a flight to Manchester where we'd meet with our driver Bash for the hour drive to the hotel.
My well-planned, minimum-connection quick trip dissolved in a puddle of "maintenance needed."
The thing is, I have an American Express for just this type of situation. So we headed to a Marriott for the night.
(There's a side story here: eyeing my sister. It involved an Uber trip all around Dallas before finding the correct Marriott. That's a story for another day.)
By the time we made it to our hotel room, we were all totally and utterly exhausted and it was, technically, the next day.
We slept for a bit, and when we woke up, our plane tickets had been downgraded sometime in the night.
We were SERIOUSLY ready to talk to the gate agents about just canceling the whole shebang and schlepping back to Grand Junction.
But.
When we arrived at the front desk to hop on the airport shuttle we were met with a man I am convinced was either:
1. A fae from the English countryside sent to our aid
2. An angel from Touched By An Angel (Remember? In the 1990s?)
His name was, and I am not kidding, *Cookie.*
He wore an old-time English stocking cap. (We never saw his ears... and it was HOT in Dallas.)
He also accepted tips via Zelle. Which is only odd because... wouldn't cash be more normal?
Anyhoo... we popped onto the shuttle and he chatted to us in his English accent.
"Where are you headed off to?" he asked.
"England."
"I'm from England! Where will you be headed there?" He got super excited.
"A small town called Accrington."
"I went to university in Accrington!"
"What's in Accrington that's fun to do?" I asked.
"Absolutely nothing," he said all cheerful.
This was not even just a ME hallucination. My mom and sister had the same exact experience!
He then proceeded to sell the proper English breakfast--toast and beans with sausage, tomato, and black pudding--with such a fierce love that I actually wanted to try beans on toast. He convinced us that it was, likely, the most amazing cuisine on the planet.
At that point we realized we were meant to continue our journey.
If Cookie hadn't been clear enough, there was a guy right off the shuttle stop with a quote on his t-shirt that said something like "Just keep going!"
And that, my friend, was the beginning of Day 2...
xoxo,
Christina
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