Vacation Time

For those of you who have been around for a while, no worries. My birthday jinx is alive and well. I've opted to pretend to not notice the annual event in the hopes that if I don't make eye contact with it, it will stop following me around. While I'm ignoring it, I'm looking for some happy. It can't hurt, right?

I FOUND SOME HAPPY!

Eleven days ago, my boss asked me the question, "What will I owe you if I give you an all expenses paid trip to the UK?" The answer is A WHOLE FREAKIN LOT, BUDDY for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I'm already in the UK. As in, I had a week's notice. I have already smashed the expert level at the game of Doing Things at the Last Second, so I don't really need help with that one. I am just fine on my own booking travel way later than I should. With help, I do things like jump on a plane for a 12-hour trek a week after making the decision to go.

I expected those 12 hours to be super miserable. Booking that late almost certainly means you're getting the worst seat on the plane. By the way, the worst seat is the one right next to the bathroom. There is no other place that is treated to quite as many scents and quite as much humanity as by the bathroom. It's just not nice. I expected misery, and then I wasn't able to check-in online. I'm not entirely sure why, but I couldn't pick a seat or check-in or anything. I had to go to the airport to lay claim to a seat.

That's ... not good. It's especially not good for an international flight.

The whole "this is going to be awful" situation led to me breaking my own rules about arriving at the airport as late as possible. I've mentioned before that I like to be the last person on the plane and it is entirely true. I have won the game if I'm last, but the crew didn't have to hold the plane for me. I just want to stroll on casually, but last. Going to the airport early to claim a seat goes against my entire belief system.

But I did it.

Only to discover that the flight was nearly empty.

As in, there were a total of five passengers on my first flight, which went to Toronto. FIVE. I didn't even have to look at my fingers to count them all!

That right there is a Christmas miracle, except it happened 5 days after my birthday. SO MUCH HAPPY.

I assumed that meant my second flight, the long one from Toronto to London, would be all sorts of full. There would be people falling out of the overhead compartments even as I was jammed up against the bathroom next to a chatty old lady who insisted on telling me about her kids for hours on end.

BUT THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN.

Instead, my second flight was nearly as empty as my first. There were maybe 50 people on the plane, which was a Boeing 777 and could have held about 350 people. I had rows and rows to myself, with no bathrooms anywhere near my smell zone and all-you-can-eat-snacks within reach.

IT. WAS. GLORIOUS.

Getting back home probably won't be as happy, but now I'm thinking maybe I won't hold a grudge over the whole last-minute travel thing. 12 hours without kids or strangers talking to me and with all the space I wanted for spreading out was almost like a mini vacation. All I needed was a fancy drink.