Monday, September 14th, 2009
Well, I made it back onto English shores. For those of you following me on Twitter or Facebook, you’ll have caught wind of my excess baggage fiasco.
It’s not like I didn’t know I’d have to pay for my luggage. Any time you have to sit on your suitcase to shut it, you know you have a problem. The luggage allowance for this flight was 20kgs (44lbs). Considering I was moving countries, my load was always bound to go over that.
When I put my first suitcase on the scale, it was 31kgs (68lbs). The check in guy looked at me over his half glasses and raised an eyebrow. My second case was 30kgs. So, I was 40 kilos over.
“That’ll be quite expensive,” says the bright spark behind the counter.
“Yeah? How much?” I say.
“Well, it’s $20 per kilo, so….$800.”
“Well, I don’t have that and I need to get my cases home, so I guess we’re gonna have to do something about that.”
At this point, the $800 didn’t even phase me. I was totally confident that I would be able to barter with them like I was in some North African country. In my mind, by the end of it, I’d have talked them down to $40 and have a free camel ride to the boarding lounge thrown in.
I was directed to the manager. I don’t know her name, but let’s call her Hilda. Hilda made it clear from the get go that she had no time for my flighty dreams of taking all my belongings home with me.
“Listen,” I say. “I don’t have $800 and I’m moving back to England, so I have no choice but to take all this home with me.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you came here. You can’t take it on the plane, so do you have someone who can come and pick it up for you? You’ll have to get it shipped back.”
Hmm, Hilda seemed immune to my charms.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “I did think about it before I came here. I thought about it endlessly. Three quarters of my belongings are sitting in a good will shop downtown somewhere. The rest of it has been shipped. What remains in these here suitcases is basically the sum total of my life. None of it is expendable. These are the bare essentials. All that remain. They’re coming with me.”
She glared at me. This, I imagined, was not how bartering goes down in North Africa.
“I don’t mind paying something, but $800 is daylight robbery.”
“Well how much would you like to pay?” Hilda asked. Great, now we’re getting somewhere.
“I have $85 in my purse. Have at it.”
Hilda laughed in the face of my $85 and explained, at length, why that wouldn’t be happening. “Why should you be the exception?” She asked.
“Let’s do a poll of everyone on this flight,” I suggest. “I will put money (all $85 of it) on me being the only one moving countries. That’s why I should be the exception.”
This was greeted with Hilda revisiting her earlier points, this time adding a raised voice and a pointed finger.
“Fine. If weight is such an issue on flights, how come overweight people don’t have to pay more for their ticket than me?” I asked. Hilda seemed stumped by that one. It’s a valid point, if you think about it. People with the correct height to weight ratio have been getting skanked by airlines for years!
By now, it was clear that whatever argument I threw at Hilda would not stick. She told me they only took credit cards. Awesome, I had just paid mine off and cut it up. I’d have to call my parents. Oh, but Hilda won’t let me use the phone and they won’t take foreign credit cards. “Well, you’ve got to throw me a bone here Hilda, Jesus!” I say, completely exasperated. The best she could do was get me to reverse the charges on the pay phone.
It finally got sorted and I arrived back in England with both my cases and an $800 debt to pay to my father. Good times.
Tags: airlines, customer service or lack thereof, flying, moving
Posted in life | 9 Comments »
Thursday, March 5th, 2009
That is a question I struggle with every now and then. Having moved around so much, my compass is all the way off these days. I don’t know where home is and I have an urge to just keep moving and trying out other cities, countries, places. Yet I also crave stability and focus and furniture and you know, other shit that grown up people have.
So, when my dad recently threw out the suggestion, during a casual Skype conversation, that I move home, it sent me into a state of turmoil for a good half a day or so. It’s a tempting offer: move home, back in with the parents, work part time in the family business, spend the rest of my time writing, making tea and generally being fabulous.
I know, I know. What’s not to love about that? Rent free living and a guaranteed job? I should be jumping for joy, right? But I just don’t think I can muster another move across an ocean. Nevertheless, I thought it was only right that I give the offer fair and balanced consideration.
Advantage
Living at home, enjoying mama’s cooking, no rent and getting to watch The Wire with my parents every day.
Disadvantage
Being in your late twenties and still living with your parents. Don’t get me wrong, I have a wonderful relationship with my ‘rents and love them to death, but I don’t want to be the female George Costanza.
Advantage
The guaranteed job and being able to work part time – holla!
Disadvantage
I would feel an enormous amount of pressure working for my parents. I know how much they put into that business and I don’t want to be the one to mess up the whole operation.
Advantage
Being around my friends again.
Disadvantage
As tough as it is not having your good girlfriends around you, sometimes when you don’t have that, you force yourself to meet new people more. Maybe if I was home, I’d take that circle of friends for granted.
Advantage
Having quick and easy access to Topshop.
Disadvantage
The subsequent debt that will ensue as a result of quick and easy access to Topshop.
Advantage
People not thinking I’m Australian.
Disadvantage
People telling me I have now developed a ‘north American twang’. You can’t win with this accent thing, I tell you.
Advantage
Being able to wallow in all the inside jokes me and my brother have.
Disadvantage
Sometimes the jokes seem even funnier to me via email/Facebook instant chat.
But essentially, when things aren’t going your way, you can’t always just pack up your shit and run home to your parents, however tempting that may be. My situation here may not be perfect, might actually be close to infuriating at times, but I have to tough it out and make it better. It’s on me to fix it. But does that mean that I can’t quit my job and go home for a few weeks for some TLC? Ahh, probably. Damn it, I just can’t catch a break!
Tags: family, moving, the brits
Posted in life | 1 Comment »
Sunday, November 30th, 2008
Uh oh. I think I’ve got that feeling again. I think I might want to move. Hand me that atlas!
Tags: home sickness, london, moving, the travel bug
Posted in life | 6 Comments »
Monday, March 31st, 2008
Sorry about my absence last week amigos. I had a whole lot going on.
Firstly, easter, which I spent with my grandmother having a righteous feed. Right after that, I was boarding a plane for my big move. (I had been out in the boonies for a few months and was moving back to Toronto). My suitcases weighed about two tons (Read: 90 pounds each), so I had to fork out about $1000 in excess baggage fees (Read: $90).
I arrived back in Toronto and was only homeless for a day (which I spent in a rather lovely B&B), before I moved back into my old apartment (which was a crazy piece of good luck and speaking as someone with probably the worst luck in the world, I’m still in shock that Lady Luck actually decided to pay me a visit, because trust me, that bitch is always in meetings whenever I call).
So, I moved back into my old place and spent a day unpacking my two ton (Read: 90 pound) bags. Then I’m hit with some sort of bird flu (Read: common cold), which completely knocks me on my ass. My head was pounding so hard I thought my brain was going to crack clean through my forehead and I was drowning in my own mucous.
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned the big 27 and it was the most uneventful birthday in the history of mankind. I was curled up in bed with a box of kleenex, watching The Sopranos. I had planned to go see The Roots, but I thought it best not to venture out in public because I didn’t want to infect anyone with my bird flu. Overall, the birthday was pretty symbolic of my twenties in general – they have sucked. If there’s anyone over 30 reading this, please tell me life gets better once I pass that milestone. I’m so over my twenties. 27 is one of those pointless, nondescript kind of ages. And how the hell am I 27 already anyway? When did this happen?!
Anyway, enough of my self pity. Hopefully next year’s birthday will not involve sickness and the stock piling of kleenex. Happy frikkin’ Birthday to me.
(Please excuse the rambling nature of this post – I am still somewhat groggy from the remnants of the SARS/bird flu/common cold.)
Tags: crappy birthday, illness, moving
Posted in life | 12 Comments »
Sunday, March 16th, 2008
I’ve moved more than 15 times in my life and considering I hate the process so much, you’d think I’d just stay in one place for longer. I am about to move again next week and as I’m entrenched deep within the packing process, I thought I’d share with you the top ten things I hate about the whole ordeal. (Understand, I had to narrow this down from my top 50)
Boxes
My life has become cardboard. I’m on a seemingly endless quest for good boxes. Big ones, small ones, in between ones. Having to walk around the city hauling flattened cardboard boxes, looking like a homeless person, is not very becoming. I’m a cardboard connoisseur at this point.
The Enigmas
Why do I have three phone chargers? I only have one phone. It came with one charger. I never bought another one. Answers on a postcard please.
The Left Behinds
No matter how long I spend doing this, just when I think I’m finished, I know there’s going to be one thing that I forgot to pack, that I can’t leave without and I’ll have no space to pack it.
The Sum Total of Life
I find it depressing that my entire life can be compartmentalized into a few suitcases and cardboard boxes.
Mathematical Discrepancies
Whenever I move, I cull a whole heap of stuff, yet still seem to end up with twice as much stuff as I came with. It just doesn’t add up.
Heavy Lifting
Most of the time, I’m moving by myself and have no choice but to break my back and get all sweaty from heaving the contents of my life from A to B. Screw all that independent woman crap. I’d give anything to have a big, hunky man hurling my stuff around with ease. If he could do this shirtless, while rubbing baby oil into his rippling abs, that would be even better.
Organization Overload
‘If I put this in this pocket of my suitcase, I won’t forget I put it there.’ Always my famous last words. When I’m unpacking, I never remember where I put all that important stuff that I needed to get at first.
Finding a New Place
When looking at ads for rooms to rent, why is it that people will post pictures of every room in the house except the one that’s actually for rent? Thanks for posting four pictures of the bathroom. If I come down with a severe case of stomach flu, I know I’ll be in nice surroundings, but other than that, I don’t intend to spend an unusual amount of time in there. And why have a picture of the frikkin’ staircase? Can you just show the room please?
Going Postal
As I’m usually moving a fair distance, I always have to have a lot of my stuff (i.e, the left overs that I couldn’t fit in my suitcases/forgot to pack) sent on to me in the mail. I do not trust the postal system at all. Recently, I had a package of frilly knickers and a bank card being sent to me (don’t ask) and it just never arrived. So if you see someone roaming around in really nice underwear flashing a British bank card, let me know. Anyway, I fear that I may never see some of my stuff again. Then I hate myself for being so attached to my material things.
The Homelessness Aspect
With less than a week to go before I have to be out of my house, I still don’t have a place to live. So, if there’s anyone in Toronto reading this that knows of a room to rent – holla at me ASAP! Even though I would obviously be the best dressed homeless person on the streets, I’m not sure that’s a title I want.
Tags: moving
Posted in life | 8 Comments »
