@#%WTF! $*@#

This week has certainly been a lesson in taking deep breaths and trying to just let. things. go. I'm slowly getting there but it's been an uphill battle.

United Airlines lost my bag. At first I thought it was a simple case of my bag not making it on my flight. But no, it has actually disappeared. I should have known that something was up when my snowboard made it to Vancouver, but not my suitcase. I also had a 4 hour lay-over in Chicago, plenty of time for them to do their job correctly and load my bag on the flight. I have spent the better part of my vacation on the phone with incompetent call center agent after incompetent call center agent. They have given me every story in the book, including that they found my bag and it was on its way to Vancouver. The final version is that my bag somehow lost its barcode tag, and when they searched in the storage where all untagged bags go to die, they didn't find mine. So I'm gonna go ahead and assume that it was stolen. I'm not going to go into a detailed description of all the one-of-a-kind items that I lost, because it hurts too much.

So now here we are, 4 days into my so-called vacation. No clothes, no underwear, no shoes, no nothing. Also, no hope of getting any compensation any time soon. I'll be lucky if I get a fraction of what my actual bag and its contents were worth. Let this be a lesson for everyone: never fly United Airlines and never take a flight through Chicago.

I've also spent too much time driving around this city since I've been back...trying to pick up some necessities. It's been confirmed that Vancouverites are the worst drivers in the universe. They are allergic to signaling, they drive no faster than 40km/h and apparently the 4-way stop is a concept much too complicated for their pea-sized brains. Next time you're driving in Vancouver, try honking at the driver in front of you and notice how they slam on the breaks. Most retarded knee-jerk reaction ever.

But enough with the negativity. On the bright side, I won't have to check any bags in on my way back to Paris, right?

DEEP BREATHS.

The current security advisory level is Orange.

I am very, very anal when it comes to travel. I hate to be rushed. I always show up with tons of time to spare. I have never been late for a plane or a train in my life, except for once when I relied on a Belgian to drive me to the Brussels train station and he took some wrong turns and ended up in the middle of the Sunday morning market and I had to sprint to the platform and made it just as the whistle blew. But I’m afraid my spotless record has been tarnished after this morning.

Last night started innocently enough: small dinner party at a buddy’s house. I’m really not sure at what point in the night I became blind drunk, but it’s pretty much a miracle that I even emerged from my coma this morning. I couldn’t say what time I got home, although I do remember that I made it back in a cab. For some inexplicable reason when I got home I decided to sort through the cards in my wallet…presumably to take out all the ones that I wouldn’t need in Vancouver. I’m pretty sure I responded to a few Facebook messages too, but I haven’t been able to assess the damage yet. And of course, classic Anne move, I randomly got up in the middle of the night to turn OFF my alarm on my cell. And when my actual radio alarm started blaring at 8am, I was so deeply passed out that I struggled with the damn thing for over 10 minutes without realizing that it was on for a REASON, and so I just turned the volume down and went back to sleep.

I finally woke up at 10am, the time I was supposed to be at the airport at. Obviously there was no time to shower, so I’m pretty sure I still smell like booze. I didn’t realize until I was lining up for check-in that I was probably still drunk. By some miracle I found a taxi on the street willing to take me to the airport, after calling my uncle and practically begging him to drive me because I was so late. He refused on account that he just woke up. It’s always nice to know you can count on family in times of stress.

So here I am now in Chicago O’hare, my second most hated airport (top prize goes to Paris CDG). Every time I pass through here something shitty happens. The first time they lost my luggage, the second time all connecting flights had been cancelled because of tornado warnings and in order to make it to the biggest competition of my Varsity ultimate career, Reg and I had to rent a car and drive the 800 miles to Columbus, Ohio because the only flight they could get us on was in two days. In retrospect it made for a great story, but as a result the word O’hare brings back very bitter memories of sprinting through the cavernous terminals, waiting in line for 2 hours to rent a car (never travel through the States during May long weekend) and playing the first day of competition on 2 hours of sleep.

The only thing that is making this lay-over in this godforsaken airport slightly more bearable is the NY Times, vitamin water and a bag of M&Ms.

Update: Three for three...those assholes somehow managed to get my snowboard gear on the flight, but left my suitcase behind. Chicago O'hare now gets top prize.