The Day for the USA

The day to relocate to the USA has finally arrived.  I hear the sighs of relief from everyone at work from here as they have endured the long winded battle that has been the provisioning of my visa.  For those who didn’t know I have been “going” every weekend to the US for at least 3 months.  Even the CEO got bored of asking when I was leaving.  But folks, today I am on my way.

I’m excited and I am ready to go.  Bags packed, all three of them.  That’s impressive for me.  For these are all the possessions I have left in Sydney.  60 kg of them – in dribs and drabs.  Much has been thrown away.  The salvos got a good deal with the Wayne Coopers and Pierucci i must say.  But I feel refreshed, and exhilarated.  I have nothing weighing me down.  A girl without baggage so to speak –  for now.

I arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare.  The silver service taxi earned his keep running me around all morning dropping bags here and boxes there.  My favourite part was when he dropped me at Check in point Z at the airport when I really needed to be at point B.  Lucky I had dropped one 20kg case in at the office, so I was only lugging 40kg the 2.5kms to check in point B.

Something is not quite right I notice as I lug my bags the 2.5kms to check in point B, I may have blown a sandshoe.  Before I could check it out, I stumble into a swarm of people crowding around the United airlines check in area.  What the hell’s going on? 

It’s like 3 hours before the flight leaves and we have some keen as mustard people here ready to check into their flight.  I shrug as I think to myself that I am here as well, but I am borderline OCD so what’s everyone else's excuse? 

Swarms of people waiting to check in, it’s like the running of the bulls, minus the red and minus the bulls.  Three hundred of them at least.  I'm dizzy just counting them all.  Where's Rain Man when you need him? They can’t be all here to check into my flight I think.  I'll be physically sick if I am number 301.

So I wait. It’s not something I am used to doing but I wait.  I watch.  I don’t join the queue. 

10.47am. Three minutes until the check in opens.  Three minutes to come up with a plan.

Think Schilo think.  Stand fast.

I look to my left.  The queue in the economy line is now about 325. I look to the right towards the Business queue and calculate the number of people...

Zero. Perfect.

I look down to my premium economy ticket and say almost out aloud with a squint and a shrug “Well it’s not really economy” and I strike.

I head straight for the Business check in and I’m first in line.  I feel like Clark Griswold arriving at Wally World.  Let’s just hope the lady behind the desk doesn’t become Marty Moose and tell me she is closed for the summer season.

No Marty Moose here, she checks me as if it was all meant to be, gave me the seat that I want and with my bags checked all the way to Atlanta. It’s a three way win!

My only concern is my poor old red suitcase.  This could very well be the end of the line for a case (a gift from Mum and Dad) that has been with me since the year 2000.  I start to understand that the blown sandshoe earlier was actually a puncture to the right wheel.  I remember the woman who sold it to us so proudly mentioning its unique feature of the “revolutionary” rollerblade wheels. Eight years later it still makes us all laugh.  Unfortunately right now, the wheels are barely turning, nevermind being revolutionary!

So its just gone 10.55am,  I’m done, dusted & a very happy camper.

I peer back at the growing economy line and silently pat myself on the back, a good call not to follow the crowd Schilo.  For I am a busy woman you know, with a ton of things to do…

Like breakfast and a soy latte stat!