Day 0: The near miss (or How I almost had to throw away all of my toiletries because the white kid might be a terrorist)

Although it’s taken a while, I’ve finally found somewhere that has internet access, the walkway right outside my door, and I’m not reducing wordpress to a pile of ashes. Now I can actually start posting to this blog.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. The patron saint of airplanes (different than the patron saint of traveling) must’ve been a bumbling fool before he haphazardly darwinized himself and made his way to sainthood (he achieved sainthood only because his mother kept nagging the pope).

I start off with four bags as I make my way to the conveyer belt that will whisk away my checked luggage. I check one of the bags and continue on my way with three bags. For those of you who travel frequently, you should notice that I have one too many carry-on bags. Of course, no one cares and I make it all the way onto the plane with three bags (and a coat, mind you) before there’s trouble.

I try fitting the largest piece into overhead storage, which doesn’t even come close to fitting so I have to check that bag. I then find out that the plane has a pressure malfunction. The pilots, being ever so optimistic, believe that the mechanics can fix it. When they don’t, everyone on board has to get off the plane and get on another, larger, plane already partially full. Being the sauvé gentleman that I am, I make the transfer without a problem.

After a short flight, I end up in the nicest of airports in the one of the worst of locales, Detroit; the Detroit airport must be the place where weary Detroitians go to forget where they live. Anyways, so I sit around in the illustrious Detroit airport until 5:15PM (delayed from 3:40PM) engaging in conversation with my airline compatriots. This may come as a shock to some, but not everyone has heard of Andrew W K. A long, curly-haired, dude was going to Osaka and Tokyo for three days to review a big music festival in Japan and a concert by Andrew W K, who he had not heard of before the knowledge of his sojourn.

I then board the plane with a horde of Asians and take my seat, which happens to be in the same row as an Asian girl wearing a pleated skirt. Some people might think that this is the part where I become a master of sex and she is working for me on my sex plantation, but you are incorrect! Unbeknownst to you, until now, is that I am sitting next to her mother, who for all I know is a mute.

After a good cry, I take a gander at the flight literature located within the pocket in front of me. I find out that airline crossword puzzles are stupid easy, that SkyMall is expensive, and that the in-flight movies, RV (why Robin Williams, why), involve me wanting to make an origami knife out of my barf bag and stab my eyes out. I decide to take option B, which involved taking a sleeping pill.

Upon touchdown in Osaka, I make my way through immigration and customs without a problem. NOVA (the company I work for) puts me up in a hotel for the night with the other newcomers. In my tiny hotel room, I settle in and turn on the telly to see what’s on. With CNN being channel 1 of 12, I naturally start there only to find out about the terror attack that wasn’t. I somehow managed to miss having to toss away my lovely deodorant and fluoride toothpaste by a couple of hours. Lucky me.