Fighting Irish

On Wednesday morning, my intelligent brain decided I needed to wake up at 6AM. Yes, that makes a lot of sense when I went to bed at 1AM and have an international flight. I had to wake up by 8 anyway because we had this thing called sweeps where we go through and check to make sure all of our residents have left. Apparently our residents really love us because a bunch had stayed behind illegally so we had the added joy of kicking them out. Once we finished that, I got to hop on a shuttle at 1:30, where the entire thing was jam-packed and there was a gumball machine beside me. More fun stuff arrived while in the car because the driver started heading to La Guardia and I was flying from JFK. I tried to get up the nerve to ask him where he was going and it only took about twenty minutes of internal debate. I was so convinced we were headed to the wrong airport that I had an entire plan to get to JFK all ready.

Once I finally stopped being a baby and asked, it turned out we were headed the right way, only taking all the wrong streets. It made sense to him, I guess. He was a giant grouch who hated Indians though. I’m not sure why but after he dropped nearly everyone off at their gates, he took a call from dispatch and adamantly refused to take any Indians into Manhattan. I think he was Pakistani and maybe that had something to do with it but mostly it was just fucking awkward.

JFK does a lot of stuff strangely. One such thing is making you lug your suitcase over to another guy who screens it instead of putting it on a conveyer belt like everyone else in the world. I wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that I was lugged down with a backpack, carry-on, and trying to shove my tickets/passport somewhere so the people behind me in line wouldn’t get pissed at me taking forever. Then, you head down to the duty-free area that ISN’T passed security so no drinks can be taken through. I pay attention to shit like that so I just bought food and got a drink post-security.

My flight from JFK to Dublin was relatively uninteresting. The guy next to me was a toy designer and we talked for a bit until the stewardess showed me I have my own TV. Hell yes. It came loaded with Top Gear, The Office, 30 Rock, and a bunch of movies I didn’t watch because sleep > TV. Landing was boring too, until I hit Dublin where it was just insanity.

So first off, Dublin. The airport sucks. You get off, completely exhausted because it’s like 4AM American time but 9AM Dublin time and you have to go through fucking security. Instead of realizing the fact that we’ve just CROSSED THE OCEAN and have been searched within an inch of our lives in NYC, they decide that Americans must suck at searches and search us again. Only before we get to do that, we have to go through customs where the guy was like “how long are you going to be here for” and my reply of “thirty minutes” did not make him happy. Whoops. It was the honest truth though.

Then, once you’ve made it past the grouchy Dublin customs agent, you have the joy of going through security. Again. And because I’ve technically left the airport by going through THEIR customs, I have to toss out my nearly full and perfectly good bottled tea because I could be a terrorist. Yeah. It makes a ton of sense. Also, Dublin says you’re not allowed to bring umbrellas in your carry-on, which I have never heard of but there’s an official sign and everything.

Well once you’re past that, you go through this white corridor which looks like an insane asylum with these stupid little “don’t mind our appearance” signs when in reality, I totally do fucking mind. It looks like shit and makes me feel like I’m about to go loco.

Then, when you’re convinced you’re going to be reaching some nice padded doors at the end of the hallway you reach your terminal, where a flight for London is leaving and no where does it say that a plane is flying to Paris. Lovely.

After that, you sit down and pray to God your plane is going where it’s supposed to be going. Luckily, it is. But then you get onboard and get seated next to a woman who fucking hates Americans.

Now I’m normally a calm person. I like talking to strangers. I do not like getting told that I’m racist because I’m American. Even though the 60 year old Irish woman tells me that she “used to think black people lived in mud huts and never grew up”. What. The. Hell. This woman was possibly the most repulsive person I’ve ever met in my life. If my flight had been longer, I would have asked the stewardesses for a different seat. This woman went on and on about how America sucks and it’s horrific and that even though we elected a black president, we’re all just racists because of the McCarthy trials which happened over 50 years ago. She also mentioned how Polish people are “such hard workers” in this utterly snooty tone. She basically thought she was amazing and the rest of us? Well, we suck. I tried to be polite and let her finish even though everything she was saying pissed me off. Then, when I thought she was done and I could read, the bitch began again. Jesus. It took a good thirty minutes for her to leave me alone, a thirty minutes that would’ve been best spent sleeping due to the fact that I hadn’t really done any of that for a while.

I don’t understand people like her. I’m a stranger. It doesn’t mean that I’m a captive audience for you to be a racist bitch to me. If I ever get anyone like her again on a flight, no matter how short, I’m asking to switch seats. I can do that, right?