Day 9

We hadn't slept almost at all previous to Day 9. We were so worried that something would go wrong again that we left for the airport 3 1/2 hours early even though we were only 15 minutes away.

We made it straight to the correct line that day, though the Delta Check In Counter was not actually open when we arrived. Nor were they planning on opening three hours beforehand. The person who did open the line at 7:50 got in trouble, but the harm was already done and we were on our way.

When we got up to the front of the line, two Delta agents looked at our tickets, freaked out and separated us for questioning. 'Why had we only bought the tickets one day before? So we were late for the previous flight? (I did have to protest--loudly--against that one.) Where had our bags been? Had we packed them? Was there anything in them that might be considered a weapon?' What kind of question is that, really? I mean, if I've learned anything from the Bourne movies, it's that anything might be considered a weapon. I was terrified to admit that I had pepper spray in my suitcase--even though it's perfectly legal--but I figured if I didn't tell them and they found it I'd be held in a French prison for 48 hours and then deported to Guatemala. They let us go about the same time to check in. The handle on my suitcase had broken while pulled out, so the man made me put my bag on the Special Items cart. I honestly couldn't believe that after they'd grilled me so hard about where my bags had been that they then expected me to leave them alone, on a cart, in a passenger area--not even behind the counter.

As we walked towards our gate we compared notes on the Inquisitorial Squad and discussed what we would have liked to say instead. I preferred "Well, I just decided to commit suicide yesterday, so I couldn't have bought the tickets before then." while Nellie favored "Because I went home with some French guy I met in a bar and really didn't sober up until yesterday.".


I am absolutely compelled to state that, while we did not rush on the way, we made it from curbside to gateside in 40 minutes.


The flight itself was uneventful. So much so, actually, that it was almost painful. Somehow between the time that Air France rebooked us and Delta had checked us in our seats had gotten moved, which turned out to be lucky for us, since the Gate Agent gave us better seats when we told her about it (there was a perk for being there at 8:20 in the morning, who'd've thought?). We ended up right behind First Class, and since by this time we didn't care at all what anybody thought, we kicked off our shoes, put our feet up on the partition (next to the TV) and chilled the whole way home.

It was nice to be home, in some ways. I mean, in America, I know how much I can, say, argue with a snotty Check In agent without being arrested, and how to, I don't know, efficiently flirt my way through customs (though Nellie really showed me up on that one, didn't ya? ;). Despite it all, I think we were both kinda sad to be coming home. After all, it was one GREAT Virgin Vacation.