Stupid and Crazy

Chapter 2 - Being a Genius

I must have been high on sugar, or so thoroughly fed up of feeling sorry for myself that I decided I was leaving the country. What a good idea! I’m scared in my own country and suffer from anxiety attacks just going to the supermarket I have visited for years, but I know, I’ll go somewhere I have no clue about, probably can’t afford and will be bloody terrified of. I had a passport, Visas were easily sorted and I had ‘some’ money I could use for flights and accommodation.

I did my research on which countries were currently ‘safe’ I.e. No wars, floods, earthquakes, plagues of locusts etc. Also they have to speak English as my Spanish is very rusty (and I was never good in the first place) and the few words of Japanese I know are not going to get me anywhere. I can ask where things are, say good morning, thank you and name random objects. I can also say I don’t understand which would probably be useful, but I don’t think it would make me popular.

          America it is then. They apparently speak English (they take the ‘u’s out of everything! And WTF is a faucet? It’s a frelling tap!) and it’s cheaper than rip off Britain, or so I’ve heard. Plus I might have to buy petrol over there (even though I don’t drive or have a car) just because it’s cheaper. I might also take photos of the signs for petrol prices over here, then show them to Americans who are complaining about gas prices. I’m going to be so popular.

          What will really happen is this; Terrified of the airport, claustrophobic on the plane, terrified at US airport, forget Visa papers, look guilty, get arrested, have cavity search, homeless, jobless, die of exposure. It’s lucky I can’t afford (and am not attractive enough) to be a crack whore. I think if I get scared enough I’ll be willing to do anything to get myself through it. Though I am far too much of a control freak to do drugs, smoke or even drink. Tea and crumpets bitches!

          They were going to love that I was the typical Brit chick in the sense that I was relatively well spoken (not posh, but not chavvy. I said darnce rather than dahnce.) I drank tea, moaned about the weather etc. etc. I was expecting that I would get a lot of questions about the Royal Family, because everyone in the UK is on a first name basis with all of them, and frequently get invited to the Palace for high tea. They were going to think my accent was ‘cute’ and ask what part of London I lived in (because everyone in England lives in London.) I would hide the fact that I had Irish roots as I think they’d go even more loopy over that. I’ve been to Ireland once, so don’t think I would be able to answer any questions.

I was packed (it was pathetic how little I had; just a few clothes, toiletries, my iPod, a book…) and had everything sorted. Due to my complete and utterly level of genius-ness, I had chosen Hollywood. Yeah. A girl who doesn’t wear make-up or care about fashion chose Hollywood. Nice move idiot. But I suppose I thought that if I’m going to do something stupid and crazy, I should push it that little bit further. Why do things by halves?

The airport in England was bad enough. Having no one who cares enough to see you off, or telling you they’ll miss you, and to write soon, is deeply depressing. Plus it is a scientific fact that time goes backwards in airports. Duty free only burns so much time and then it’s just you staring at the departures board to see that your flight has been delayed for two hours. Awesome. I don’t know how I passed the time. I spent a lot of it in a toilet cubicle having a huge, epic, mother of all anxiety attacks which was fun. Once the adrenaline was burned out, I felt like I might not die, which was nice.

          The plane journey sucked. Once you’ve taken off and landed, there isn’t really much else of interest. I’d been too poor to buy tickets on a flight that had a movie, and didn’t get the window seat. I also forgot to tell them I was Vegan so couldn’t even eat the food. 8 hours sat next to someone who snores, belches with their mouth open and has rolls of fat spilling over the arm rests. I honestly couldn’t tell if they were male or female, it was awful. I must have dozed at some point, but was woken by the god awful snoring of the ‘dude looks like a lady’ next to me. Their huge arm fell into my lap and I was unable to find anywhere else to rest the bloody thing. The armrest was enveloped in flab, the stomach was a huge round mound that wouldn’t let it sit. I kicked the person’s leg and pretended to be asleep. I was already feeling claustrophobic without feeling trapped by how much the person next to me was spilling onto my seat.