The lost day

NYE, 2000.  I was all alone, in a hotel room in Canada at the age of 17.  My parents had driven me there the day before, stayed the night and then left on New Years Eve.  I think I went to sleep at about 9:30.  I’ve never been a late night person.  In the morning, I got my breakfast at the hotel, made sure I had everything in my giant suitcase, nothing left behind, checked out, and got the shuttle bus to the airport in Vancouver.  Check out was at 10.  My flight wasn’t until 8pm.  Sigh.  At least I had a good book.  Ok, I don’t really remember, but I must have, other wise I would have gone crazy waiting that long in an airport with no one to talk to, and I don’t remember having a terrible time, so deductive reasoning tells me I must have had a good book.

Finally people besides myself started to arrive at the departure gate.  Seems my flight was full.  A girl nearby spilled her coffee all over herself and the floor.  “Can you watch my stuff while I go get some napkins?”  She asked me.  Maybe I looked like a nice person or something because I wasn’t the nearest person to her.  The thought that she could be doing something sinister or have something sinister in her bags didn’t cross my mind.  I was 17 and naive.  She finally came back with some napkins.  The flight was already boarding and I was starting to think I might have to ditch my post and get on.  I rushed to get on the plane as soon as she got back.  Turns out she had the seat right next to me on the flight and we got along great.  It was good to have a travel buddy when the total travel time was 25 hours, with a stop in Honolulu, Rarotonga, Auckland, and finally on to Sydney.  I guess you get what you pay for.  This crazy long flight with Canada 3000 (now defunct) was something ridiculous like $400 return including tax.

Sure it was a big trip for a 17 year old all by herself, but I’ve been flying by myself since I was 9.  I used to fly from Washington to Minnesota in the summer to see my cousin/best friend Jennifer.  I didn’t like anything they served on the plane.  I used to be so picky.  I didn’t think to bring any snacks.  I figured if I didn’t like what they had on the plane I could buy something at one of the numerous airports we stopped at.  Good theory, not so good in practice.  When we got to Hawaii, it was the middle of the night and none of the shops were open.  Not to mention we weren’t actually allowed in the airport, only a little transit lounge.  Rarotonga (Cook Islands) was a tiny little airport that consisted of one little open air building and a moveable staircase to get you on and off the plane.  No food stores in sight.  I tried to buy the only thing resembling food I could find, a bag of chips, but they didn’t take US dollars, Canadian dollars, or credit/debit/eftpos cards.  Only whatever currency that they use, which I didn’t have any of and they didn’t have any money exchange.

I can’t remember why I couldn’t get any food in New Zealand, but I couldn’t.  Finally I arrived in Sydney, to an excited Lauren and my new Exchange family.  I smelled like B.O. I was greasy, and I was wearing way too many clothes for the summer weather.  Oh, and I really needed to eat.  I left on 1 Jan and arrived on 3 Jan.  I missed an entire day with all the different timezones, but it didn’t matter because now, I  was officially an exchange student.

I saw a McDonald’s and got really excited.  Finally I could eat!  I don’t know what my host family first thought of me when I arrived, after not having a shower and travelling for 2 days, but they were (still are) awesome.

10 years later (tomorrow to be exact), I am still here.  Happy  Decade to me!  Now I just have to get my citizenship.  I can’t really put it off much longer, my visa runs out next month.  Well, not my whole visa, I can remain in Australia indefinitely, I just can’t leave and come back.

What’s that smell?

I’d been smelling it all day.  There was no mistaking it.  It was poop.  It was following me around.  Was it Hannah?  I checked her bottom.  Nope, no poop there.  Was she just farting?  Maybe, she does fart long, loud and often.  I checked my shoe.  It didn’t smell like dog poop, but maybe I’d stepped on a wayward nugget.  You never know….  No poop there.

We went out in the car.  The poop was following me!  Hannah wasn’t cranky, she didn’t seem to have a stomach ache with noxious gas emissions.  I know it seems a little crazy, but I checked under the seats.  Nothing.  Well, ok, not nothing, our car is very messy (mainly due to a) I can’t be bothered to clean it, b) I don’t have time to clean it, and c) I’m kind of scared of what I’ll find in there), but there was no poop there.

We went to the grocery store.  The poop followed us.  I was going crazier with every step. WHERE WAS IT COMING FROM!?!?!?!?!

We went to the register to pay for our purchases.  I opened my purse.  Oh snap, there it was.  The little blue tied up bag was staring right at me as I unzipped my purse.  In the little blue tied up bag was a nappy.  A poopy nappy.  All of you non-Mommies, I can hear all of your horrified gasps from here.  Why would I have a poopy nappy in my purse?  Oh my goodness, why would I have a POOPY nappy in my purse?  WHO puts a poopy nappy in their purse?!  Next time you are in the middle of, well, anywhere without a bin, and you have to change a poopy nappy, and have nowhere to put it, then you’ll understand.  This is the exact reason that some clever person invented the little scented poop sacks (ok, nappy sacks).  Roll up nappy, put in bag, tie up, put where you can.  Only, you’re not supposed to forget that you put it there like I often do.  Sure, I could litter, but I don’t condone littering, and I’m pretty sure that some other mother doesn’t want their unsuspecting child to excitedly run up to the colourful poopy bag, pick it up, and frolic about.  So yeah, I put poop in my purse.  Deal with it.

Ok, so these ones aren't blue like mine, but you get the idea