First, we had to leave the hotel at 4 am in the morning, as well as having to deal with Daylights Savings time again. (Once in Canada, now in Europe) I very wisely decided that people don't need sleep and stayed up all night despite a long, exhausting day of walking and sightseeing, and arrived at the airport looking like a pile of poop composed of regurgitated poop.
There, we ate our boxed breakfasts because we were there two hours before our flight. They composed of plastic wrapped vomit that was labeled "sandwich", an apple that looks like it had already been eaten, and an orange that was more peel than fruit. I took two bites of a sandwich and threw them away, ate around the holes in the apple, and ate half of the remains of my orange after my friend helped me peel it by tearing off the peel along with half the orange. I was thoroughly dissatisfied.
To appease me, one of my friends gave me a little plastic baggie with four enormous chocolate granola bars in them. I was ridiculously thrilled to get them, but stupidly stored them inside my breakfast box. After having "finished" my breakfast, I then stupidly threw the box away with the bars inside them. By the time I had realized my mistake and walked briskly back to the trash can where we disposed of our boxes, a suspicious dirty looking man already had them looped across his arm as though he had just come from the mall instead of the waste bin. I decided he could just keep the granola bars.
Then we reached security, where I got beeped three times. First, I forgot to take off my belt. Then, I forgot my watch. The third time, I made it through the metal detector only to have my carry-on stopped. I had left two water bottles in my backpack, one of which I threw out immediately. The other I asked to pour out because I wanted to keep the bottle, but the security guard just told me to take my bag and leave. I was obviously too stupid to be a terrorist. At this point I had half the airport line laughing at me, so I walked away pretty quickly.
Two or three hours later I was in London, and nauseous out of my mind. I was dumb enough to nap on the plane, something I had never been able to do because I would always wake up so that my body could puke out my intestines.
Eight hours at Heathrow to kill. Eight hours trapped, nauseous, inside an airport. Eight.
We finally took off at 5:30 pm on what would be a nine hour and fourty minute flight back to Vancouver, on which I was determined not to sleep.
I got nauseous anyway.
I spent a period of time on the plane singing "I am not nauseous, lalalala, I will not throw up, lalalala."
Also, the smell of airplane food makes me nauseous.
Nauseous. Nauseous nauseous nauseous.
I'm not quite sure how many times I can get away with saying nauseous. I probably should have stopped after twice.
*Slight exaggeration. Very slight.
