EPTFirst-class bathrooms are only
for first-class bladders.
In keeping with my tried and true travel tradition (say that five times fast), I forgot to pack possibly my most essential item. That is correct: I am talking about the charger for my Nintendo DS. Judging from Japanese sales figures, however, the Nintendo DS is as ubiquitous as toothbrushes and rice cookers here. I expect to have a replacement within 24 hours.
So I was without entertainment for the majority of the eleven hour flight, which left me with plenty of time to ponder the fundamental questions of life, questions like:
- How the hell did I forget that charger?
- What deranged airline "chef" would think to pair what was essentially a chicken stroganoff with udon noodles, peas, carrots, and limp bell peppers?
- What if this plane and these people were the only reality I had ever known? Could this plane ever feel like home? (I was starting to lose my grip on reality by this point.)
While the in-flight meals were atrocious (the second one was a day-old dinner roll and a single slice of processed turkey breast microwaved with Velveeta), at least they were included in the cost of the ticket. The overhead bins were spacious enough to accomodate my pregnant backpack. Even the TSA, who, aside from the Cal Poly administration, are my most-hated enemy, were helpful. When they caught me trying to smuggle a full water bottle through security ("We have a Code 32. Agent needed at Station 4 for a Code 32. Full canteen."), they acted like reasonable human beings.
"I'm supposed to escort you out of the security checkpoint and make you dispose of the water and get back in line," said the young, attractive agent, "but I will just go around the corner and dump it out for you." She was even smiling. A government employee... smilling? It was all so confusing.
