So, okay. Here I am at the Southern tip of the great country of India. I am in a decent sized town called Tirunelveli in the state of Tamil Nadu. Here they speak Tamil and some English. I just found out today that the word for "flower" in Tamil is "pu". Dontcha. I went to see Kannyakumari, or the rock in the sea at the very tip of India where the three oceans meet. It was very similar to going to see the Statue of Liberty, but with more sunshine.
I have been here for two weeks now. Two weeks of sweating and eating and making a fool of myself as I bungle through learning an entirely new culture. It is entirely possible that I won't be able to write about this experience with any kind of clarity until I am home again and have some perspective. However, I will try to put some things together here. Please forgive me in advance for what will surely be an exercise in randomness and probably nonsense.
Things I don't need anymore:
1) Shoes
2) Silverware
3) Showers
Everywhere we wear slippers (or flip flops) and take them off when we enter homes, temples, churches etc. We eat with our hands, not an easy task for someone who mastered the knife and fork years ago. You'd think it would be easy, but it is not. And now, I bathe with a bucket of water and a mug. Rinse, soap, rinse, done. However, 103 degree temperature notwithstanding, it is still common knowlege that if you go out with a wet head, you are going to get a cold.
I am staying in a small house near the LIFT girls' boarding facility (also known as the Women's Hostel). The college girls have named the house Sweet House. I have a bed and a dressing room and an A/C unit that daily saves my life, although I have mixed feelings about it. I have a western toilet, thank goodness, because while it is one thing to learn how to eat with your hands... it's easy to watch and learn. I really don't want to have to ask for an explanation of how to hold my dress, drop my drawers, squat above a hole in the ground, do my business and then use a mug of water and my left hand to clean up without falling in or making a mess of myself. Not to mention I am dealing with a language barrier and it takes a committee to translate and respond. Sometimes the response is minutes later with a request to repeat the question. Right.
Being amongst several new cultures at once is both mind opening and mind closing. I am tackling India, Tamil, and community living. On the one hand I am seeing things that I never thought about before, broadening my experience and expanding my knowlege. On the other hand, I am prone, perhaps due to human nature, to believe that this is the only truth. My mind is tossing out useless information regarding much of my Western culture, and in the process is narrowing my mind to focus solely at what is in front of me. Everything I see is the new way and the new truth. I am discombobulated. There are moments of great clarity and many more moments of complete misunderstanding or being lost in a cloud of confusion. And it is hot. It is hard to think straight when your brain is melty.
I helped to make chapati this morning. Indian wheat pancakes, more like tortillas... but different. They were pretty good.
Ok, I know there are more important things, stories that could be narrated well, but I just wanted to get this randomness out of the way. I needed to start somewhere.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Story of Confirmation Part III
Inside the church everything was hustle and bustle. We had to check in downstairs in the hall, get a candle and a program, our name tag (confirmation name in red) and a boutonniere. Before I could get there I had to find a seat for Liz and locate my sister, Jessica, and her boyfriend who had both come. I finally got downstairs and got my stuff and Ingedia was there. She had been able to make it after all. The situation with her brother's wedding got resolved and she was there for the ceremony. I was ready to do it on my own, knowing you'd be rooting for me from afar, but I am glad she could make it. I am glad I could include her in the night. I think she needed it more than I did. Although, I am learning that everyone's need for a spiritual presence in his or her life is no less important than another's. Everyone's time is of equal value. For all time, each life given to mark time, is a gift and the presence of God. Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.Matthew 25:45.
We made our way to our seats at the front of the church, Mary-side, fourth pew. The place was bright! So packed were all the stairs and ledges with Easter Lilies and daffodils and tulips and hyacinths that the whole hall was thick with their perfume. The urns to either side of St. Patrick were full of fine umber branches with papery organza blossoms fluttering around every stem. The baptismal font was full again and running. Such a change came over the church after the barren hollows of Good Friday. The stations of the cross were held in such a sombre place, the mood of which was desolate and empty despite being held within the same walls as this tumescent vivacity. So quietly and in earnest did we sit, stand and kneel with every station. It only took the shame of one missed genuflection to draw me into line with the rhythm of prayer. Our hearts broke with Pergolesi's Stabat Mater sung beautifully after every invocation of the crucial moments of Christ's journey. Only the cold hard corners of the hall were present for our petition, making the absence of our signs of God's life, of The Son, more poignant. Making the notes of the Dolorosa echo in our bones. And now! Here everything was full of life. Flowers were so numerous that you could not go forward without crushing a blossom, pews so full of sweet old friends, babies and all ages between that the aisles could barely handle the overflow.
I could not sit still. We had almost an hour to wait until the ceremony began and I rushed about locating all of the people from my table and the newest friends I had made at the Mundelein retreat. I squeezed them and shook hands way too long, and smiled until my face hurt. All the chatechumens were in burgundy robes and flip flops looking like ducks out of water and I immediately felt silly for thinking my costume awkward. Everyone was beautiful and nervous. Tricia and Emily, our table leaders, were beaming like proud parents ready to leak tears of joy at the slightest provocation. They were running the same track circles as I was, making sure everyone was ready and name-tagged and suited up. Renee was in the pew in front of me chatting away with her sponsor and looking radiant. A woman kept trying to give me a camera, which was not mine, and I kept refusing it and found out much later that it belonged to Liz and she was trying to lend it to me so I could take pictures. Ingedia had crumpled her candle into a weird new sculpture she thought for sure would not drip on her. The scene was near chaos when finally the lights were dimmed down to complete darkness and with it all of the voices and movement settled as much as it could, like a small girl whose ruffled dress tempts her to dance though she's been told to sit still.
To be continued...
We made our way to our seats at the front of the church, Mary-side, fourth pew. The place was bright! So packed were all the stairs and ledges with Easter Lilies and daffodils and tulips and hyacinths that the whole hall was thick with their perfume. The urns to either side of St. Patrick were full of fine umber branches with papery organza blossoms fluttering around every stem. The baptismal font was full again and running. Such a change came over the church after the barren hollows of Good Friday. The stations of the cross were held in such a sombre place, the mood of which was desolate and empty despite being held within the same walls as this tumescent vivacity. So quietly and in earnest did we sit, stand and kneel with every station. It only took the shame of one missed genuflection to draw me into line with the rhythm of prayer. Our hearts broke with Pergolesi's Stabat Mater sung beautifully after every invocation of the crucial moments of Christ's journey. Only the cold hard corners of the hall were present for our petition, making the absence of our signs of God's life, of The Son, more poignant. Making the notes of the Dolorosa echo in our bones. And now! Here everything was full of life. Flowers were so numerous that you could not go forward without crushing a blossom, pews so full of sweet old friends, babies and all ages between that the aisles could barely handle the overflow.
I could not sit still. We had almost an hour to wait until the ceremony began and I rushed about locating all of the people from my table and the newest friends I had made at the Mundelein retreat. I squeezed them and shook hands way too long, and smiled until my face hurt. All the chatechumens were in burgundy robes and flip flops looking like ducks out of water and I immediately felt silly for thinking my costume awkward. Everyone was beautiful and nervous. Tricia and Emily, our table leaders, were beaming like proud parents ready to leak tears of joy at the slightest provocation. They were running the same track circles as I was, making sure everyone was ready and name-tagged and suited up. Renee was in the pew in front of me chatting away with her sponsor and looking radiant. A woman kept trying to give me a camera, which was not mine, and I kept refusing it and found out much later that it belonged to Liz and she was trying to lend it to me so I could take pictures. Ingedia had crumpled her candle into a weird new sculpture she thought for sure would not drip on her. The scene was near chaos when finally the lights were dimmed down to complete darkness and with it all of the voices and movement settled as much as it could, like a small girl whose ruffled dress tempts her to dance though she's been told to sit still.
To be continued...
Thursday, March 25, 2010
M'kay
So here I am, totally procrastinating from packing. I'm making bread... salt and pepper rolls which are super delicious hot out of the oven with lots of butter. I'm blogging blogs... blah blah blah. I'm contemplating if I should have my legs waxed in Phuket, and then I think F**kit and giggle silently to myself. I'm listening to Dee Lite because my squeeze is not home and am drinking the leftovers of a terrible stout I purchased for the Craft Night Retreat. Oy vey, was that an adventure. So here I am staring down a formidable pile of antiseptic wipes, linen garments, adapters and cords and other odds and ends wondering why I am bringing anything at all. How on Earth will I know what I need and what I don't? Sure, sure, sure I could have read travel blog after travel blog and researched all the ins and outs of DEET usage, but I sure didn't. Kinda like how I hate to read movie reviews before going... I like the surprise. I'm so going to get stuck in quicksand or a mud pit and no amount of tampons are going to save me.
My major prollem right now is figuring out what vessel I want to tote my totables in. I have a nifty new suitcase sized just large enough to check my mobile pharmacy, but I am at a loss for the appropriate carry-on. I have pondered duffels and satchels of every ilk and have found nothing that screams PERFECT for under 250 bones. My actual budget is 49.95. If I had an inside track on some gold bullion, I might have a little better luck. Now, I'm not saying the Army Navy Surplus doesn't have some viable bags priced around 20 bucks, but they just aren't working for me right now. I need something with a shoulder strap and handles. I need it to be rugged but not fugly and be easy to cram in every overhead I encounter and keep my gadgets safe. I also don't want to look like a dumb American tourist. Sorry fellow Americans, but a few of you with zip off short/pants and backpacks have created a stereotypical target for the rest of the world to harass. For my own safety, I would like to blend. In that case, I am considering just using my giant leopard print tote and calling it a day. I'm a girls scout. I still don't pack more than I can carry, so who cares what it looks like?
Honestly, right now I feel like one of those special goats that falls asleep when it gets frightened. Zzzzzz. Or I feel distracted and then things get deep. I try to line up the last 10 years of my life in order according to apartments and love interests and then I get maudlin and Zzzzzz. But really I should just be packing, no?
M'kay, then.
My major prollem right now is figuring out what vessel I want to tote my totables in. I have a nifty new suitcase sized just large enough to check my mobile pharmacy, but I am at a loss for the appropriate carry-on. I have pondered duffels and satchels of every ilk and have found nothing that screams PERFECT for under 250 bones. My actual budget is 49.95. If I had an inside track on some gold bullion, I might have a little better luck. Now, I'm not saying the Army Navy Surplus doesn't have some viable bags priced around 20 bucks, but they just aren't working for me right now. I need something with a shoulder strap and handles. I need it to be rugged but not fugly and be easy to cram in every overhead I encounter and keep my gadgets safe. I also don't want to look like a dumb American tourist. Sorry fellow Americans, but a few of you with zip off short/pants and backpacks have created a stereotypical target for the rest of the world to harass. For my own safety, I would like to blend. In that case, I am considering just using my giant leopard print tote and calling it a day. I'm a girls scout. I still don't pack more than I can carry, so who cares what it looks like?
Honestly, right now I feel like one of those special goats that falls asleep when it gets frightened. Zzzzzz. Or I feel distracted and then things get deep. I try to line up the last 10 years of my life in order according to apartments and love interests and then I get maudlin and Zzzzzz. But really I should just be packing, no?
M'kay, then.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Story of Confirmation Part II
I woke up from my nap restless. Allowing my emotions to unfurl around me had relieved most of my anxiety and now I was ready to get going. I had decided to stop worrying about myself and get back to the real reason I started this process. At this point in the RCIA class all of the focus had been on the candidates, getting them ready for the big day. It was starting to sound like the whole reason for Easter Vigil was for us, for ME. And so I focused along with everyone, but I started to feel uncomfortable with this notion. The real impetus for my confirmation in the Catholic church is because of an undeniable feeling, maybe a knowledge, that God exists, my life and my love are gifts from God to share with others, and that God has asked me to give up everything for Him. Now, this last one still freaks me out, and I am not at all sure what it means, or if I need to honor it actively, but Catholicism is the first framework I've found to help me start to understand what it could be all about.
After a shower I sat down to the task of writing thank you notes to everyone at my RCIA table. I had purchased some blank butter-colored stationary cards a few weeks ago and I embellished each on with a gold cross with little yellow hatch marks implying a glow. Each card was addressed to an individual and I thanked him or her for being a part of the process with me, remarked on how an aspect of what he or she shared at the table over all those months inspired me, and blessed each on the beginning of a greater journey as a beloved child of God. It was time to start giving and sharing this kindness. I have been known to describe it as a Giant Ball of God's Love, imagining in my mind something akin to the sun being distributed via firehose that has been let go of. Catholicism, to me, is the method by which I can learn to hold onto the hose, get to know my gift, and find the best ways to use it wisely. BEAM BEAM BEAM!
My friend Liz came to the ceremony. She offered to drive me to the church so I didn't have to worry about parking, traffic, etc. and I could relax. It was incredibly sweet of her. I proceeded to go through about fifteen different white-ish outfits before I decided I needed to go shopping. I went to five different places, totally unsatisfied (there don't seem to be confirmation outfit retailers anywhere...) and decided on white jeans from American Apparel. OMG. About two hours later I emerged in a white skirt and sweater, black belt, shoes, tights and glasses with my hair twisted up into a poof on the top of my head. I may as well have been wearing a bunny suit for how comfortable I felt. I checked my phone to see if Renee had called with an outfit solution, and she had indeed left a message telling me I am a beloved child of God and that it didn't matter what I was wearing and that she had gone shopping too, and her dress was too tight, she couldn't breathe. Ok, good, we were in the same boat. Now the only thing left to do was pack up my cards and wait for Liz to get there. Of course her intentions were to ease my mind, and ultimately she did, but she got to my house two minutes before I was due at the church for early check in so relaxing was still not an option. Bless her soul, we got there safely, found parking right away and whisked through the gale-force freezing wind up the stairs of Old St. Pat's into the buzz of a most exciting event.
To Be Continued...
After a shower I sat down to the task of writing thank you notes to everyone at my RCIA table. I had purchased some blank butter-colored stationary cards a few weeks ago and I embellished each on with a gold cross with little yellow hatch marks implying a glow. Each card was addressed to an individual and I thanked him or her for being a part of the process with me, remarked on how an aspect of what he or she shared at the table over all those months inspired me, and blessed each on the beginning of a greater journey as a beloved child of God. It was time to start giving and sharing this kindness. I have been known to describe it as a Giant Ball of God's Love, imagining in my mind something akin to the sun being distributed via firehose that has been let go of. Catholicism, to me, is the method by which I can learn to hold onto the hose, get to know my gift, and find the best ways to use it wisely. BEAM BEAM BEAM!
My friend Liz came to the ceremony. She offered to drive me to the church so I didn't have to worry about parking, traffic, etc. and I could relax. It was incredibly sweet of her. I proceeded to go through about fifteen different white-ish outfits before I decided I needed to go shopping. I went to five different places, totally unsatisfied (there don't seem to be confirmation outfit retailers anywhere...) and decided on white jeans from American Apparel. OMG. About two hours later I emerged in a white skirt and sweater, black belt, shoes, tights and glasses with my hair twisted up into a poof on the top of my head. I may as well have been wearing a bunny suit for how comfortable I felt. I checked my phone to see if Renee had called with an outfit solution, and she had indeed left a message telling me I am a beloved child of God and that it didn't matter what I was wearing and that she had gone shopping too, and her dress was too tight, she couldn't breathe. Ok, good, we were in the same boat. Now the only thing left to do was pack up my cards and wait for Liz to get there. Of course her intentions were to ease my mind, and ultimately she did, but she got to my house two minutes before I was due at the church for early check in so relaxing was still not an option. Bless her soul, we got there safely, found parking right away and whisked through the gale-force freezing wind up the stairs of Old St. Pat's into the buzz of a most exciting event.
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Story of Confirmation Part I
So I wrote this last year to describe what the experience of becoming Catholic was like. I'd like to share it with you all now as we approach Easter. Thanks for reading. Love. Hugs.
I woke up on Saturday morning with a head full of anxiety and cold feet. What did I think I was doing? There was no way I was going to wear all white, get up on stage wearing all white, face the entire congregation in my white outfit and nerd glasses and my true intentions laid bare, get oil smeared on my white forehead and say "I do" to a man I have never met and a God I can not see. Right. I called Renee immediately and got voice-mail, left a message "This is insane ridiculousness and I have cold feet. What are you going to wear? Call me". I proceeded to search the webbernets for a sign of life and fortunately while I was there Judy B. was online. She has been a great friend these past months. She helped me lighten up at the beginning of Lent and has been a sport about my Catholic questions. So she dialed me up and I told her a bit about my predicament. She thought it sounded natural and gave me a good pep talk.
A few technical difficulties resolved and some breakfast made and we were chatting away. I won't elaborate on the conversation except to say that it really helped me get centered and take an objective look at my impending confirmation. It was the exact opposite of what came next.
I was already exhausted from the stress of the morning so I crawled into bed. And I sobbed. So many emotions were crowding me that I couldn't keep them in. I had done so much work to get to this day. So much opening of my brain and heart, so much having faith and praying, so much anguish and frustration and attempts at forgiveness. I spent hours and hours, months at a table with newlyweds with newborns and soon-to-be-weds with starry eyes watching them grow closer together and more in love. I listened to viewpoints and perspectives from Chicago's priests and bishop and all sorts of other people who live their lives as Catholics. I took copious notes and read my bible, um, religiously. I dove into Lent with such earnestness that I actually gave up hope, because it was the only thing that gave me great comfort, so I thought that was what I was supposed to do without. After Judy B. set me straight, I gave up cheeseburgers instead. Better to be skinny than hopeless. All of this and still to come was Reconciliation. I knew what I had to say, and I have never been more scared in my life. I clutched the paper with your penitential prayer until it was crumply and soft. And I broke myself open with tears that would not stop and reached into my heart for the the thing I had to turn over to God. It was like extracting a shard of glass that had been wedged in there for years and I gave it to Father Jack Wall because he seemed old enough and wise enough to hold it for me. All of this was coming back to me with such vehemence and yet I felt profoundly empty. And so I slept, gratuitously, in the middle of a Saturday still in my pajamas.
To Be Continued...
I woke up on Saturday morning with a head full of anxiety and cold feet. What did I think I was doing? There was no way I was going to wear all white, get up on stage wearing all white, face the entire congregation in my white outfit and nerd glasses and my true intentions laid bare, get oil smeared on my white forehead and say "I do" to a man I have never met and a God I can not see. Right. I called Renee immediately and got voice-mail, left a message "This is insane ridiculousness and I have cold feet. What are you going to wear? Call me". I proceeded to search the webbernets for a sign of life and fortunately while I was there Judy B. was online. She has been a great friend these past months. She helped me lighten up at the beginning of Lent and has been a sport about my Catholic questions. So she dialed me up and I told her a bit about my predicament. She thought it sounded natural and gave me a good pep talk.
A few technical difficulties resolved and some breakfast made and we were chatting away. I won't elaborate on the conversation except to say that it really helped me get centered and take an objective look at my impending confirmation. It was the exact opposite of what came next.
I was already exhausted from the stress of the morning so I crawled into bed. And I sobbed. So many emotions were crowding me that I couldn't keep them in. I had done so much work to get to this day. So much opening of my brain and heart, so much having faith and praying, so much anguish and frustration and attempts at forgiveness. I spent hours and hours, months at a table with newlyweds with newborns and soon-to-be-weds with starry eyes watching them grow closer together and more in love. I listened to viewpoints and perspectives from Chicago's priests and bishop and all sorts of other people who live their lives as Catholics. I took copious notes and read my bible, um, religiously. I dove into Lent with such earnestness that I actually gave up hope, because it was the only thing that gave me great comfort, so I thought that was what I was supposed to do without. After Judy B. set me straight, I gave up cheeseburgers instead. Better to be skinny than hopeless. All of this and still to come was Reconciliation. I knew what I had to say, and I have never been more scared in my life. I clutched the paper with your penitential prayer until it was crumply and soft. And I broke myself open with tears that would not stop and reached into my heart for the the thing I had to turn over to God. It was like extracting a shard of glass that had been wedged in there for years and I gave it to Father Jack Wall because he seemed old enough and wise enough to hold it for me. All of this was coming back to me with such vehemence and yet I felt profoundly empty. And so I slept, gratuitously, in the middle of a Saturday still in my pajamas.
To Be Continued...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Blank stare, dead air
So yesterday I had a moment of hesitation about getting the second part of my gap year moving. Not unlike the time I picked the shotgun back up and aimed with all my conviction at the clay pigeon hooked on a nail in the tree twenty paces in front of me after the firearm had kicked back into my shoulder so hard that I went into hysterics, I met my fears head on and through paroxysms of frustration and anger I coaxed the webbernets to produce confirmation numbers for a series of international flights. Not without some customer service interaction and a lot of mixed emotions.
Now here's the kicker: this is not normal. One does not just quit one's job...
Bank Teller: "Do you have a direct deposit on this account?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So is Skidmore Owings and Merrill LLP still your employer?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So you have no income on this account."
Me: "Correct"
Bank Teller: "So you are a student."
Me: "Of sorts"
Bank Teller: Blank stare
Me: Polite smile
At this time I am thinking, seriously, with the economy the way it is, is it still impolite to assume someone is unemployed? I guess it is. After this she tries to see if I will be keeping a certain balance on my account so she can upgrade me to a different plan. I tell her no, I will not be keeping this balance, and keep the part about how I'm going to spend all of it today on plane tickets to myself. Finally I can't take the puzzled looks and little grunts of the cut off beginnings of questions so I tell her I am volunteering in Southern India and won't be working, receiving income or using my bank card for about three months.
One does not find time in her busy life...
Bank Teller: "Oh wow, I would love to go help volunteer for womens' rights in Cambodia. I want to help stop human trafficking, wow, I wish I could find the time... I'm married and have children, you know, so I'll never be able to, but I really wish I could"
Me: "That is wonderful, I hope that the opportunity comes into your life."
She proceeded to waive the service fee on my account for 4 months until I get back into the states, which was a really nice thing for her to do. I was glad that I finally told her what I was up to even though I would prefer if strangers don't inquire into my personal life. Next I had to deal with the fallout from updating my billing address (which is what prompted the exchange above). This involved calling Expedia, to inquire why if my bank's information matched my input information what the hold up is, where...
One does not book flights without a return date...
Expedia Customer Service Agent: "We are very sorry for the inconvenience, let's see if we can go ahead and have this flight booked for you, what is the itinerary number?"
I give her the number.
ECSA: "I see and we are not showing any dates for your return on this itinerary, when will you be returning?"
Me: "I do not currently have the return flight scheduled"
ECSA: "You don't have a return flight?"
Me: "Not at this time."
ECSA: "Um, ok, Well we would like to go ahead and make a booking for your return while I have you on the phone"
Me: "Thank you, but I do not have a return date as of yet."
ECSA: "But..." Dead air.
Now I could hear the questions going through this nice woman's head through all that silence so I just proceeded to tell her that my travel plans were not yet confirmed and that I would not be booking return flights today. I'm not really returning anyway. I am just going to keep going forward until I have circled the globe and arrived in my original location. I am traveling East which means that my original location will actually be trying to catch up with me. She tried two more times to get me to book more flights but I just politely kept saying no. Besides ...
One does not spend all of their money at once...
While I am freaking out about having mistakenly shipped some very expensive electronics to the wrong address (Amazon, you make it a little TOO easy), I get a phone call from the Visa early detection program wanting to confirm some purchases that appear on my credit card. Yes, yes they are all my purchases. Apparently only criminals book international flights the same day they buy ipods. Now, I am happy that Visa is looking out for my best interests, but they called at the exact moment I was trying to dial up Amazon to change the shipping address so I didn't have to sit on the front porch of my old rental apartment in Riverwest all day waiting for a package. Fortunately the lady at Amazon was extremely helpful and changed the address before any items had been shipped. SIGH of relief. I do, however, anticipate some more customer service interactions and failed purchases as I try to book some more international flights in the next 48 hours. Lord have mercy.
So if you had the patience to get to the end of this post, you may have realized that I have booked my tickets to India and procured a music playing google machine for the road. This means I am actually going. Can you believe it? Yah, me neither.
Now here's the kicker: this is not normal. One does not just quit one's job...
Bank Teller: "Do you have a direct deposit on this account?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So is Skidmore Owings and Merrill LLP still your employer?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So you have no income on this account."
Me: "Correct"
Bank Teller: "So you are a student."
Me: "Of sorts"
Bank Teller: Blank stare
Me: Polite smile
At this time I am thinking, seriously, with the economy the way it is, is it still impolite to assume someone is unemployed? I guess it is. After this she tries to see if I will be keeping a certain balance on my account so she can upgrade me to a different plan. I tell her no, I will not be keeping this balance, and keep the part about how I'm going to spend all of it today on plane tickets to myself. Finally I can't take the puzzled looks and little grunts of the cut off beginnings of questions so I tell her I am volunteering in Southern India and won't be working, receiving income or using my bank card for about three months.
One does not find time in her busy life...
Bank Teller: "Oh wow, I would love to go help volunteer for womens' rights in Cambodia. I want to help stop human trafficking, wow, I wish I could find the time... I'm married and have children, you know, so I'll never be able to, but I really wish I could"
Me: "That is wonderful, I hope that the opportunity comes into your life."
She proceeded to waive the service fee on my account for 4 months until I get back into the states, which was a really nice thing for her to do. I was glad that I finally told her what I was up to even though I would prefer if strangers don't inquire into my personal life. Next I had to deal with the fallout from updating my billing address (which is what prompted the exchange above). This involved calling Expedia, to inquire why if my bank's information matched my input information what the hold up is, where...
One does not book flights without a return date...
Expedia Customer Service Agent: "We are very sorry for the inconvenience, let's see if we can go ahead and have this flight booked for you, what is the itinerary number?"
I give her the number.
ECSA: "I see and we are not showing any dates for your return on this itinerary, when will you be returning?"
Me: "I do not currently have the return flight scheduled"
ECSA: "You don't have a return flight?"
Me: "Not at this time."
ECSA: "Um, ok, Well we would like to go ahead and make a booking for your return while I have you on the phone"
Me: "Thank you, but I do not have a return date as of yet."
ECSA: "But..." Dead air.
Now I could hear the questions going through this nice woman's head through all that silence so I just proceeded to tell her that my travel plans were not yet confirmed and that I would not be booking return flights today. I'm not really returning anyway. I am just going to keep going forward until I have circled the globe and arrived in my original location. I am traveling East which means that my original location will actually be trying to catch up with me. She tried two more times to get me to book more flights but I just politely kept saying no. Besides ...
One does not spend all of their money at once...
While I am freaking out about having mistakenly shipped some very expensive electronics to the wrong address (Amazon, you make it a little TOO easy), I get a phone call from the Visa early detection program wanting to confirm some purchases that appear on my credit card. Yes, yes they are all my purchases. Apparently only criminals book international flights the same day they buy ipods. Now, I am happy that Visa is looking out for my best interests, but they called at the exact moment I was trying to dial up Amazon to change the shipping address so I didn't have to sit on the front porch of my old rental apartment in Riverwest all day waiting for a package. Fortunately the lady at Amazon was extremely helpful and changed the address before any items had been shipped. SIGH of relief. I do, however, anticipate some more customer service interactions and failed purchases as I try to book some more international flights in the next 48 hours. Lord have mercy.
So if you had the patience to get to the end of this post, you may have realized that I have booked my tickets to India and procured a music playing google machine for the road. This means I am actually going. Can you believe it? Yah, me neither.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Trigger Sad
Can someone tell me why it is so hard to buy these plane tickets? Why can I not press "purchase"? Is it the money? Is it the looming reality of actually going to the opposite side of the world now that I am terrified of it and not flying on a wicked detachment high? What if it hurts? What if something happens? What if I don't make it home? What if I don't want to come home at all? Are my feet cold? Am I chicken?
Oh come off it. Just shut up and start booking some tickets. Stop yer whining.
Oh come off it. Just shut up and start booking some tickets. Stop yer whining.
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