9.28.2004
random security inspection
So I'm sitting in Logan Airport's terminal E, having been singled out for a random inspection, which comprises a full metal-wand sweep and a thorough investigation of my carryon luggage. Interesting, since I was carrying my bassoon at the time. The woman couldn't seem to figure out what my reeds were for, especially, viewing them as if they were some sort of drug paraphernalia. I kind of wish I hadn't taken my Greek textbook out: that would have made me look even weirder. I've ot well over the stated weight limit of carryon baggage, sinc I am carrying my instrument and a laptop bag. I'm also taking two large suitcases of clothing, books, and assorted toiletries: all of which will be a royal pain in the butt to carry through London.
That said, my good friend Tarek, who is helping me out tonight with a place to stay and some help setting myself up in England, has arranged for a car service from Heathrow Airport to central London. This takes, as I am told, something like 50 minutes, but will only cost me about 25 pounds. The tradeoff (of course there's a tradeoff) is that said car service is operated by a reliable but somewhat shady Afghan who bears. Sometimes I wonder if Tarek knows what he's doing or whether he's having me on.
Anyway, I'm excited to be leaving on my adventure, and I'm scared and filled with wonder at the same time. And I'm amused by Virgin Atlantic, who feel the need to call their first class section "Upper Class"; for that extra bit of British snob appeal. Well, they're calling my flight. As was said in Angels in America, "the great work begins..."
That said, my good friend Tarek, who is helping me out tonight with a place to stay and some help setting myself up in England, has arranged for a car service from Heathrow Airport to central London. This takes, as I am told, something like 50 minutes, but will only cost me about 25 pounds. The tradeoff (of course there's a tradeoff) is that said car service is operated by a reliable but somewhat shady Afghan who bears. Sometimes I wonder if Tarek knows what he's doing or whether he's having me on.
Anyway, I'm excited to be leaving on my adventure, and I'm scared and filled with wonder at the same time. And I'm amused by Virgin Atlantic, who feel the need to call their first class section "Upper Class"; for that extra bit of British snob appeal. Well, they're calling my flight. As was said in Angels in America, "the great work begins..."
