In hindsight, staying up so late and only getting an hour of sleep was a terrible idea. I could hear Ava’s voice pulling me from my daze: “Wake up, we gotta go.”
Technically, her flight was an hour ahead of mine, but I wanted to get to the airport early to enjoy the Centurion Lounge. I barely had the energy to get myself out of bed, let alone function properly, but we had to go.
Five Star, on the other hand, was debating whether to extend her stay for an extra day. She told us to go ahead without her while she called the airline to see how much it would cost.
The front desk called a black cab, and before I knew it, we were on our way to Heathrow—a 40-minute drive through the city I wished I had more time to explore. It was bittersweet knowing I had to leave so soon. London, I’ll be back. Next time, with a proper itinerary that includes more food and sightseeing.
Somewhere along the way, I started feeling nauseous. Great. I popped a Dramamine, but I knew I took it too late. I should have swallowed it the second I woke up because the motion sickness was already settling in.
When we got to the airport, Ava and I parted ways. She was flying back to SEA/TAC in Washington, while I was headed home to LAX. She hugged me goodbye, and with that, we each made our way to our respective terminals.
Then, just as I thought I was in the clear, TSA flagged my luggage. Again.
Seriously, what was it this time?I had my mini keyboard for typing emails and posts on my phone, but that shouldn’t have been an issue. As the agent rummaged through my belongings, he pulled out my bag of liquids. Apparently, my toothpaste was the culprit. Are you serious? He claimed my travel-sized tube was too big. Dude. Whatever. At this point, I had no energy to argue, so I let him confiscate it and moved on with my life.
My head was pounding, and I knew I was dehydrated. The motion sickness wasn’t helping, either. I stopped by a store, grabbed some ibuprofen, and finally made my way to the lounge.
Finding the Centurion Lounge was easy, and I quickly settled in.
Normally, I’d be all over the buffet, but my stomach had other plans. Instead, I stuck to water—multiple cups of it—hoping it would help.
An hour passed, and I started feeling slightly better. Still cautious, I grabbed some yogurt and oatmeal. What I really wanted was toast and eggs, but the nausea was lingering, and I didn’t want to push my luck.
Another hour went by, and I finally started to feel like myself again. To celebrate, I went to the airport shop and picked up a few of the chocolate bars Ava had recommended. I’d never seen them in the States before—milk chocolate with Cadbury eggs, jelly beans, and pop rocks. Normally, I’m not into sweets, but the texture was so intriguing that I kept eating more.
As boarding time approached, my phone started blowing up. It was Five Star.
She was coming on my flight.
Turns out, extending her stay was way more expensive than she anticipated—$1,000 plus losing her upper class seat and forfeiting 22,000 miles. That was too steep for just one extra day, so she decided to stick with her original itinerary.
Then she hit me with a generous offer: an upgrade to upper class with her.
Tempting. Very tempting. But when I checked the app, I noticed the seat next to me was empty. That was enough luxury for me. I politely declined, and she said she’d see if she could sneak me into the upper class lounge once we were in flight.
Once we were in the air, I quickly realized that I could not get WiFi. No matter how many times I tried to purchase it, the system kept kicking me out. Fine. Whatever. I’d have to survive the flight like it was 1999. Five Star was probably wondering if I was ghosting her, but I had no way to explain unless I flagged down a flight attendant to relay a message. That required energy I simply did not have.
Before I knocked out, they handed me a snack—corn nuts and more water. The corn nuts were surprisingly good. But as I munched, I couldn’t help but think about all the food products banned in the UK that Americans consume without a second thought. No wonder our country has so many health issues.
I dozed off, waking up just in time for meal service. Over the course of the flight, I watched Venom: The Last Dance, a couple of episodes of Schitt’s Creek, and It Ends With Us. I’ll have to write a separate post about It Ends With Us—I need to know if others feel the same way I do about that movie.
By this point, I was starving. Between the lounge, the chocolate bars, and the corn nuts, I hadn’t had a proper meal. Bring on the motherfucking carbs.
I devoured a vegetarian pasta dish, salad, bread, butter, cheese, crackers, and coconut pudding. Every. Last. Bite.
However, something was not right in our row.
The man in the aisle seat—an older Chinese gentleman—was ripping serious ass. I’m talking chemical warfare levels of gas. It was like he was dropping daisy cutters for the love of God. It was disgusting. I could hear the other passengers complaining about the wretched stench. Thank God I had my face mask because the sounds alone were deeply unsettling.
Then came dessert. I took one bite, and while it tasted refreshing, I quickly noticed something off. The “ice cream” wasn’t melting. What the hell kind of additives were in this? Sus. I stopped eating it.
I fell asleep again and woke up to another snack—this time, a tomato and cheese sandwich. More food? My stomach was still full from lunch, but that didn’t stop me from taking a couple of bites.
And then? I slept again.
By the time I woke up, we were flying over Canada.
And guess what? More food. This time, it was a box of finger sandwiches, a biscuit with some kind of cream cheese/butter hybrid, and a cookie. At this point, I just stared at it. My stomach couldn’t handle any more surprises.
I spent the rest of the flight staring out the window, nodding in and out of sleep.
Then came the announcement: We were landing soon.
I looked out the window, seeing Los Angeles sprawling beneath me. As exhausted as I was, I was happy to be home. My body was a hot mess from fragmented sleep, jet lag, and bad decisions—like only getting one hour of sleep the night before. Never again.
When I deplaned, Five Star was waiting for me. She had been texting me nonstop, even going back to the economy section to check on me—only to find me completely passed out.
Since I had Global Entry, getting through customs was a breeze. I barely had to do anything—just scanned my passport, took a picture, and that was it. Five Star, who didn’t have Global Entry, used Mobile Passport Control (MPC), which helped her skip the long customs line. I barely had to wait five minutes for her, while the rest of our flight was still stuck in line.
We hugged goodbye and went our separate ways. She ordered an Uber, while I made my way to the parking lot where my car was waiting. Paying for parking was way more convenient than dealing with Uber Black surge pricing.
As I drove down the 405, the exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My body was not okay. I rolled down the windows, blasted the AC, and turned up some trance music just to stay awake.
When I finally made it home, I dragged my luggage upstairs, threw my clothes in the washer, took a long shower, and collapsed into bed. I slept for five hours before getting up for work.
Not my smartest decision but at least I made it.
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