Rolling over on the bouncy air mattress, I shut off the 2am alarm on my phone. However, I've already been awake for a while anticipating the alarm's arrival. Getting up, I stuff my sleeping bag into the stuff sack and shove it as well as a few other belongings into my backpack.
Chet and Karen, my friends that I traveled with through Central America have been kind enough to let me stay at their house before I leave for my next trip. They are also kind enough to wake up and drive me to the airport shuttle. Opening their bedroom door, they walk out like a pair of zombies as they adjust from being in REM to being awake. As they pull on their coats and boots, they silently grab one of my bags and carry it down the stairs to their car. This reminds me of the many early starts to catch buses from one city to the next in Central America.
Arriving at what we think is the bus stop, we hop out of the car and look around. Underneath a dark overpass with little lighting, it doesn't look like much of a bus stop. Karen wandering down the street a little ways shouts out, "I found the sign for the bus!" Chet smiles at me and says, "We have to remember she can always find the bus stop."
Unloading my bags from the car, I stand on the sidewalk with pretty much everything I think I'll need for the next year. Saying our goodbyes for a while, my two friends drive off into the night. Standing alone on the sidewalk, I look at my watch and see that there is another half an hour until the bus arrives. Waiting patiently, the only things that would pierce the silence as I stood there, is the occasional hum of tires on the freeway above me and a man walking and yelling into the night.
A while later, loading onto the bus I shuffle into a seat and wait for the ticket agent. Watching her collect money, she eventually arrives at my seat and then asks if I'm a student. Debating whether to be honest or not, I decide being honest is better and tell her that I'm a recent student. Smiling she responds by giving me the student discount. I thank her in return and fall asleep for a couple hours.
Startled awake by the bus driver announcing our arrival to the airport, the bus driver stops at the loading zone. With the hiss of the hydraulic door opening, myself and the other passengers shuffle out of the bus like penguins as we are excited to get a little closer to our destination. I laugh to myself knowing that we are all rushing to only sit at the plane terminal and eventually sit for however long on a cramped plane. "Hurry up and wait," I tell myself.
Grabbing my bags, I walk across the street and find a bagging agent where I successfully get my overstuffed bag through without any additional fees. I also skate through the TSA checkpoint unscathed and aimlessly wander my way through the corridors until I find my terminal.
Taking a seat by the window, I strategically pull my bulkiest clothes out of my backpack knowing that it won't pass the airplane gate checkpoint otherwise. Pulling a flannel and a few jackets on, I look outfitted for a snowstorm. I look out of place at Gate 27 of the Oakland airport and definitely out of place in the sea of Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and socks with sandals. Analyzing my backpack after the removal of some bulky clothes, I feel satisfied with it contents and weight for the overhead storage.
A few minutes later, an airline representative announces over the intercom that they will be walking around looking for oversized bags and will charge extra for them. Silently I curse to myself knowing that my bag is border line. Keeping an eye on the representative, she meanders through the rows of seats but seems to have a homing missile on me. I look away and try to stay casual by blending in with the other men in Hawaiian shirts who look like they are already on vacation 3,000 miles away from their destination.
Failing, she approaches me with a handful of baggage tags in her hand.
"Have you flown with that bag as a carry on bag before? It looks way too big."
Looking around, I eye the other patron's carry on bags carefully seeing abnormally large bags among them. I look back up at her and respond slowly, "yeah... I've flown a lot with this as my carry on bag." Pausing for a moment I think and respond again, "I've used this bag as a carry on bag fourteen times as well as internationally and have never had a problem."
"Well, it looks way too big, if you can't make it smaller, I'm going to have to charge you."
Unbuckling the backpack, I pull out my down sleeping bag and stuff it into my little bag now making that bag too big to fit under the seat in front of me. Buckling my backpack back up, I look at her. Seemingly satisfied she walks off. With her eyes adverted, I open my backpacks and reorganize it to how it was previously.
The man in the Hawaiian shirt and shorts next to me laughs and says, "did you just put everything she had you take out back into the same bag? It's funny she singled you out because look at all of the other crap people are bringing." Laughing, I confirm what he just asked me.
With my boarding number being called, I shuffle onto the plane with the rest of the penguins and find my seat. I successfully put my bag into the over head compartment and take a seat. With the seemingly full plane, I notice there is one empty row next to me. Flagging down a flight attendant I ask if I can sit there. With the attendant's approval, I shuffle myself into the next row and hear several people around me groan with disapproval. One even makes eye contact with me and tells me how lucky I am. I nod in approval and stretch out across the row to fall asleep. I'm on island time now.
Speed racers
California perfection
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