First days in London

Well, I made it to London!! I'm now going on my third day here....and may I say, if the last two days are any indication of how this year is going to go, I'm going to be in for a very interesting 12 months. Where to begin....let's start with my arrival into Heathrow airport....

All was going great....all my flights were right on time, the trip over was virtually turbulence free, and I was on my way to actually meeting Audrey at the time we had arranged to meet at the King's Cross tube stop. But as I neared customs, I noticed there was a very long line, which wrapped around 2 long hallways leading into the customs area. Everyone in line looked to be from a variety of countries...and most seemed to be around the ages of 20-25. My heart began to sink, and as I arrived in the customs area, I looked up to see a sign posted at the entrance of the line where all the people had started from....it read "First time students". Darn it!! I made my way to the back of the line...and slowly inched my way forward every few minutes....for 2 hours. Needless to say, the arranged time to meet Audrey had passed by the time I made it through...so I picked up my bags (which were there waiting for me at the baggage claim....points for that one)....and made my way to the underground. I got off at King's Cross as planned, hailed a taxi, told him the address of my new home, and off we went. The neighborhood we drove through was lovely....brick houses, lots of trees, restaurants and pubs and shops everywhere....the we drove up what I knew was my street....only to stop right outside a house halfway up. The address read 6 Winchester Place....the address of my apartment building. And my heart sank again.

I told the taxi driver that this could not possibly be my place...that I was supposed to be living in a student accomodation, and from the pictures looked to be quite a large building. So we looked around on the street for a bit, then walked up the street a bit, where low and behold, there was a large brick building, much like the one I was supposed to be living in...only it wasn't called WInchester Place....the sign outside read "Elizabeth house". hmmm. The taxi driver was kind enough to drive me up the winding entrance road, where there was someone waiting to help me with my bags. Ok, so not the correct address, and not the correct name, but this had to be the place. As I made my way inside, I saw other people waiting around in the common area. One of the parents of one of the people waiting to be let into their rooms told me that things weren't quite set up yet, and that the rooms that were supposed to have bathrooms (like mine) not only don't have bathrooms, but the few that do had been double-booked for some reason. I didn't think my heart could sink any lower, but it did. I went up to what was supposed to be my room, which I had already paid a deposit and first installment on, went inside, and sure enough, no bathroom....and the room looked nothing like the pictures shown on the website.

I was given 3 options....one, wait around and see if a room with a bathroom opened up (not likely), choose another room without a bathroom, and use the communal bathrooms located on my floor, or transfer into another building which had rooms with bathrooms. Well, I haven't lived in an apartment without a bathroom in about 10 years, so I decided to take the last option, and move to a different location. I thought maybe I'd like the area more, so I'd go ahead and try it out. They called me a taxi, told the driver where to go, and off I was again....2 huge bags and a duffel bag in tow. As we drove out of the neighborhood, which I was noticing was nicer and nicer as we made our way around it....such beautiful homes, families walking about, little cafes everywhere.....the area we were making our way towards looked less and less nice...somewhat run down actually....and kept getting worse. I asked the taxi driver how the area was that I was moving to....he laughed and said "not as nice as where you were"....oh jeeze. I gave it a few more minutes, then told him I was really sorry but could we stop and drive back to the other place? He was so nice and understanding, and even let me use his cell phone to call back to the other place to ask if they still had rooms available....bathroom or not. They said yes, and told me they could arrange one as soon as I got back.

Ok, so maybe my building wasn't at the address it was supposed to be at, and maybe it wasn't even named correctly, and maybe I didn't get the room I wanted or paid for, and maybe the kitchens are about 1/8th the size they're supposed to be, and maybe there's no room to sit down in the kitchens, and maybe the entire place doesn't look like it does in the pictures on the website, but the neighborhood it's in is absolutely beautiful....and there's a tube stop not to far from where I am. I"ve already met some really nice people who live in the building, and everyone i've met and who has helped me up until now has been very kind and understanding. And I'm in London....one of the best cities in the world. So I think I'm going to be ok....more than ok. I think it's going to be a great year.

Did I mention the fire alarm went off last nite as I was falling asleep and everyone had to evacuate the building in their pajamas? No? Well that's another story.....

Retail therapy

For all of you out there who have either worked retail, or have enjoyed a shopping spree to lift your mood on a day where you might otherwise have been in a bit of funk, you know what retail therapy is. It is defined as shopping with the primary purpose of improving one's mood or disposition. This is, the ACT of shopping, i.e., an exchange of money for goods. Now that we have that clear, does anyone think that retail therapy could also be misinterpreted to mean striking up a conversation with the nearest sales associate, and endlessly unloading all of your life's problems upon them? I don't want to sound extremely rude or uncaring, but if you come into the store where I work (which will remain nameless), pick up a pair of sunglasses (that may have given a slight hint), and begin to tell me how you need to buy a pair of sunglasses for your nephew who lives in a different country, but is someone you hardly get to see because you left home when you were 16 years old due to an overbearing father who wanted to plan your wedding and who you were to wed, and came to the United States, and chose to live in Iowa because no one would ever expect that you were living there, and that was the real reason you chose it, because you want to hide out from your family, but you don't actually like living in Iowa, but you do like the fact that you have your independence and you're able to cuss and buy whatever the hell you want, including these sunglasses for your nephew (which you don't actually end up buying), and that what you really want is to marry someone for love (good call), and not because your family thinks it is an acceptable match, that you don't really care about the money and the inheritance you're missing out on (really?), even though, let's face it, it's a lot of money, but you are content, or at least semi-satisfied with the way things have turned out. Alright. Let's get back to the part where you came in the store to buy sunglasses. Is that what you really wanted to do? Or did you zero in on me, standing there behind the counter, with no one else in the store and nowhere else to go once you entered, besides perhaps the other side of the store, but that would be considered a bad sales tactic on my part. On my behalf, I really do enjoy interacting with people who come into the store. I enjoy laughing with them, getting to know them a bit, and talking about what their plans are for the day. I also understand if someone might be in a poor mood, and looking to lift their spirits by treating themselves to a bit of shopping. I do it all the time. But there are lines that need not be crossed when interacting with people you don't know! They're called social boundaries, and apparently some people need a little practice. Let's do that. I am a sales associate. I sell you things. I try to pinpoint what your needs are, then I try to find the product that can best fulfill these needs. I can't, however, help you solve your unfortunate family situation. Unless your dad really likes a great pair of Ray-Bans, and sees them as a peace offering for hiding out in Iowa for awhile, I can't reinstate your inheritance. I'm sorry. And I'm sure Ray-Ban is too. I'm sure they would make quite a bit more money if they could bring families back together again. So if what you really need when looking at that big shiny retail sign is someone to help you through deep-rooted family issues, please go see a therapist, or a close friend. But if what you need is a fabulous new pair of sunglasses to help make your day a little brighter (a bit more shaded really), come on in!

(Note: the instance referred to above may or may not have been a hypothetical encounter...you can decide for yourself)

As for my last blog post, I can report that I am much more comfortable (although not entirely confident), that the possibility of making it to my London apartment from the airport is quite good. After reassuring myself with the wonders of streetview Google maps, I now know that my apartment building is not, as my dream portrayed, lost in a field somewhere, at one end of a road leading to nowhere, and is, however, on a nice-looking street, lined by trees and little brick houses. The nearest tube station is also not a journey, but rather a short trip by foot...11 minutes to be exact, according to Google.