My Trip Home Part 2

*This entry covers the time span from my departure from Tel Aviv to my landing in Atlanta; I started writing in Newark and am finishing here in Georgia.  Ok carry on J

I think having a camera crew following me around would be much more helpful than attempting to convey in words my experiences over the last 24 hours, but I shall try my best.  As I write this, I am sitting at Liberty International Airport in Newark, New Jersey, my stomach very full from the large chocolate chip cookie and orange juice I have recently consumed; the cookie was so good that I went and bought 4 more for my niece and nephews—courtesy of United Airlines of course, as I made use of the meal vouchers they supplied me with.  

Since this airport does not offer free wifi (seriously??), this will be posted well after I land in Atlanta.  Picking up where I left off yesterday, which was pre-hamburger and pre-flight status in Tel Aviv, I will now discuss the flight.  Oh, how I would much rather be in a car for 12 hours than on a plane, but then I guess I wouldn’t have much to write about.  I forgot to mention that when going through security stage #2 at Tel Aviv (when my bodyspray got tossed), I was lightly tapped on my right arm.  I looked to see who it was and recognized her as one of the ladies from the security area that had held onto my checked luggage as I waited for the United desk to open.  She apparently had followed me to this stage of security, and asked me more than once if the guy (the one who did not put the security tag on my luggage) went through everything, if he used the wand, etc.  I ensured her he checked everything very thoroughly, and she seemed relieved, all the while relaying the story in Hebrew to the lady who had just gone through my carryon.  I'm wondering if the guy still has his job?   

 

When they announced over the loud speaker that we would finally start boarding, some people clapped.  The 2 hour delay had gotten to a lot of people; for me, it just meant I was at the airport for 8 hours instead of 6.  I found row 40 on the 777 jumbo jet, and was so thrilled to find my seat was right in the middle of two people (that’s sarcasm).  One was a student from the Hebrew University; I didn’t know him, I just remembered seeing him around the Student Village.  He was the lucky one who had the window seat.  Within minutes of being seated, a man two seats to my left in the middle row, whose seat was on the aisle, asked a flight attendant to fill his empty water bottle. I watched as the flight attendant took the bottle from his hand and proceeded to check overhead storage.  About ten minutes later, I heard the man in the middle ask the flight attendant about his bottle; the flight attendant apologized, saying he misunderstood what the man had asked him to do, and that he had thrown the bottle away.  The man sat in disbelief, then decided to voice his disbelief.  The female flight attendant standing behind the one getting his toosh chewed said “sir, it was a mistake, we are sorry; we will bring you as much water as you want during the flight”, but the man was not satisfied with her response.  He crossed his arms and slumped in his seat, and began to pout.  I watched in amazement at this man of about 40 who was now acting like the 5 year old I had previously watched at the gate; she too had crossed her arms in defiance when she didn’t get her way. 

The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful; I watched Ben Hur, The Wizard of Oz twice, and Thor, while cat napping here and there and playing some games on my phone.  We were fed three meals, which for me was two too many for someone sitting in the same spot for so long.  The first meal I chose (very Mediterranean/Israeli) was a delicious roasted chicken with shell noodles, Greek salad, dinner roll, and cookies for desert.  I later picked a turkey sandwich, but they wrapped two together; I could only eat the one.  The last meal was a choice between eggs and quiche; I picked eggs, which came with potatoes, fruit, and a bagel.  I drank a lot of liquids, and finally decided to get up to go to the bathroom when my seatmate had the same idea.  When I finally was able to get into the bathroom, I heard the familiar “ding” that indicated the seatbelt sign had come on; I picked a fine time to use the restroom—we were in the middle of some turbulence.  Interesting experience! 

I filled out the paper for customs, and checked the box for “yes” I brought food, which was a mostly eaten bag of pretzels.  Then I read the back of the paper, and it mentioned “food” being items like fruit, nuts, meat, etc. that was forbidden to bring into the US.  So I crossed out the “yes” box and checked the “no”.  This later caused an issue.  The landing was wobbly, enough to make people say “whoa” and “oh” a lot.  I was too busy praying to say anything.  We never were told why our flight was delayed so long, only that wherever the plane had come from was experiencing very heavy rain; the stewardess implied there were other reasons, but said she didn’t know; I was fine with that, I didn’t need to know. 

Going through customs was ok, but when the border agent saw my scribbled out “yes” box, he asked about it, and I explained that after reading the back, I didn’t know if the pretzels “counted”.  He then asked, “Are you going to eat them or display them on your mantel?”  I wanted to display him on my mantel.  After that, again, I was pulled out of the line and sent to a scanner.  The guy at the scanner asked me if I had food; I said “yes, pretzels in my backpack.”  I then had to place my backpack and my carryon on the conveyer belt.  I walked around and waited.  My backpack came down and I put it on, but another guy grabbed my carryon.  He went all through it, looking confused, went through it all again, and then held his hands up as if to ask “why am I checking this bag?”  I wanted to explain that all of this was over a small bag of pretzels that was currently on my back as I had already stated, but I was too tired to care.  He saw me, asked if the bag was mine, I nodded and he sent it my way.   

After leaving customs I found a lady and asked her where I needed to go to inquire about my room and new flight.  Her directions led me down a hallway that opened up to a check-in area; I found the United economy line and waited with about 30 other people.  Here is where things got out of control.  So many of us missed our connections due to the delay, and soon those other people started to pour in.  Those who were in business/first class walked up to the line by that counter, and this made the guy in front of me, along with some others, very mad.  He told them they were cutting and they needed to go to the back of the line; they explained that they were not economy, thus they were not supposed to be in our line.  This discussion went on for several minutes until an airline employee walked up and told the business/first class group they were in the wrong, making the guys in my line very happy.  Then he pulled me out of line (I wasn’t surprised at this point, why break the cycle?), and he let the guy in front of me move up, and put those he said were out of line in front of me, and I lost several places in line.  The guy who was behind me, who also had complained about people cutting, cut in front of me.  I didn’t know what to do.  Very frustrated and sweaty, I quietly half prayed, half begged to just get my ticket and go to bed.  As time went on the line situation continued to escalate.  Even an employee behind the counter got into a spat with a customer, and the constant grumbling and accusing from those in line brought a police officer over to babysit.  One lady, who also cut in front of me, yelled at another lady who was about to go to the counter when the agent said “Next!”; she informed her that she was in line before her, had been waiting for over an hour, and SHE was going next.  I was there before all of them, but I knew it was a lost cause and really not the end of the world.  You know what happened after that?  Another agent yelled out “Arnett, Stacey Lynn!”  I yelled “Here!” much louder than I had intended; she walked over with my new ticket, my hotel voucher, and two meal vouchers.  I then happily took them and left the bickering ladies behind in line.     

I went upstairs, took a train, walked downstairs, stood on the curb, and waited for the shuttle to the hotel.  For over thirty minutes.  Several other shuttles from several other hotels came and went several times...the one I needed was MIA.  Again I started to think that maybe I should just sleep in the airport (that thought first occurred to me when the fighting in line ensued), but then the glorious little mini bus that was labeled “Ramada Plaza” pulled up.  With glee, I skipped blissfully as I effortlessly toted almost 100 pounds of luggage…actually, I forced my jelly legs to move as fast as they could as the two pieces of luggage I dragged behind bit me on the ankles.  Once seated on the shuttle, I noticed the two guys next to me had been on the plane from Tel Aviv, and they started speaking in Hebrew.  I decided at that moment I did not feel that I was yet in America, and I half listened to their conversation, understanding half of that.

Check-in at the hotel was insanely simple; I showed her my voucher, she typed in my name, and handed me my room key.  When I stepped into my room, I wanted to cry.  There, beautifully decorated in my favorite colors, was an adult-sized bed, all for me.  It took over two hours to leave the airport once my plane landed, so now it was almost 10 PM.  I made a phone call, took a short shower, and climbed into the most amazing, most comfortable bed I have ever had at a hotel.  As tired as I was, I didn’t sleep much, about three hours.  I started getting ready to leave for the airport at about 3:45 AM, checking out was just as easy as checking in, and was on the shuttle by 4.  I got lost at the airport, had to carry my luggage downstairs (no escalator), and had to remove items from my suitcase to make it closer to the 50lb limit (just so you know, you can’t take bottled water on a plane, but you can take rocks the size of baseballs.  Clearly they’ve not been to the Middle East, where one is used to keep you alive and the other is used for the opposite).  As I was hastily transferring rocks from my checked luggage to my carryon, the agent asked me if I had been one of the people who had missed my connection from the Tel Aviv flight; I told him yes, and he said “Oh, I heard it was terrible”.  Wow, word gets around.  He then gave me a window seat with a little extra leg room, and off I went to security.

Going through security was of course a lot faster than in Tel Aviv.  The lady who checked my ID wished me a happy early birthday, and as I said thanks I had to stop and think; wow, my birthday was coming up in a couple of days.  I had forgotten.  As expected, the other lady at the bag scanner asked me to follow her to a table so she could open my carryon.  I still have no idea why I kept getting pulled to the side, but at least she didn’t spend a lot of time going through it; just long enough for me to put my shoes back on.  By this time it was 5:30 and I was hungry, so I then made use of my meal vouchers.  When we got on the plane, I almost froze at how narrow it was.  Once I was seated, I had to keep looking out the window and not at the inside of the plane; I could reach over and touch the man on the other side, and this really bothered me.  Once we were in the air I was fine, and was thrilled beyond words to have finally landed in Atlanta.  Once I received my carryon I made my way to the baggage claim.  Apparently our plane landed on one side of Atlanta, because I had to walk to the other side to reach my luggage.  Once I found it I stepped out into the sunshine and cool air, and as a lowrider passed by blaring rap music, I smiled and thought “ah, America.”  Soon, I spotted my mom and sister coming out of the parking garage (originally all of my family (that live in Georgia) was going to be at the airport, but due to the change my dad and brother had to be at work, and my other sister had to be at home with her kids).  On the way home, I had my first American meal:  double cheeseburger with bacon from Burger King.  It is good to be home.

 

In Tel Aviv; this is the picture that got me in trouble; shows my flight is delayed

Pretty scenery on the way to Atanta

My mom's dog, who was very happy to see me

My hotel room