One…(o’clock) is the time I got to Hartsfield-Jackson airport in ATL on Cinco de Mayo. Three (o’nine) is the time I made it to my gate for my 3:20PM take-off. *Note to self- Do not eat at the airport Houlihan’s for a pre-departure lunch no matter how bad you want the greasy American potato skins before you leave. The only “skin” I will remember from this experience is making that flight by the skin of my teeth. Never again…
One…bag made it all the way through with me on my journey to Nice (which, as you know, began in Atlanta and then connected in Paris). It is important to note here that I was expecting two bags to meet me in Nice. For reasons why I had to end up checking a second bag please refer back to paragraph ONE. For future reference: if you arrive at the gate that late there will not be any more overhead compartment room on the plane and the lady at the gate will throw your bag under the plane with the other checked luggage and that lady will forget to enter your bag into the online airline/airport system of all-knowing all-important information….thus, your bag will take a detour in Paris for longer than the four hour layover you had planned.
One…day is how long your bag will spend in Paris without you. (Lucky bastard.)
One…is the number of passports a person has in their name at any given time in their life (pending they are not a criminal with multiple identities).
One…is the number of passports that I had going into this trip.
One…is the number of passports that I left on the seat of my taxi that drove me thirty minutes from the Nice airport to my residence in Juan-Les-Pins. (Given what I went through a mere two weeks before this trip with my passport at work involving a moment of severe ADD, a dumpster, and a really nice Mexican cleaning lady who deserves a major raise…this is not a good pattern of behavior for me and my beloved passport.) My dad will likely kill me and assuredly roll his eyes when he reads this because it will remind him of another not-too-fun story of a
One…hundred dollar bill that I haphazardly threw away (on accident) on a flight to Honolulu about five years ago with my family. That was a Christmas present from my parents that I never saw again (and a $100 tip that some lucky stewardess got for some last-minute Christmas shopping). *Note: to any current/future employers who may be reading this – I am superbly good at organizing people, events, and figurative things…but on occasion the palpable things in my life can get a little messy. *Note: to any current, licensed doctors who may be reading this please consider making me your poster child for ‘Adult ADD’. It should also be noted that I will accept (nay, I desperately need) your free samples – hint hint. Anyway, back to the situation at hand-
One…heart attack is what I nearly had when I realized my passport was gone.
One…(billion) is the number of phone calls I and the kind sweet French girl, Charlotte, and I made (combined) to the taxi company and the Nice airport trying to find and retrieve my passport.
One…crazy emotional phone call is what I made to Dan in a telephone booth on the street of Juan-Les-Pins, crying my eyes out amidst a jetlagged haze I can barely remember and will absolutely choose to forget.
One…is the number I have assigned to the angel-of-a-woman working this day at the Nice airport Air France desk — she searched the airport bathrooms for my passport, spoke to me slowly and calmly in French throughout my debacle, and ultimately arranged for my passport (which was later turned in to airport ‘Lost & Found’ by my female taxi driver, another angel I might add) to be delivered to me at my residence along with my lost luggage the following day. Yes, this lady is #1 in my book.
One…place setting was set on the beachside restaurant dinner table at which I ate this first night in France.
One…beer and beautiful Mediterranean sunset is all it took for me to settle my nerves and remember, ‘Hey, I’m in France. Life could be worse.’
One…minute is all it took for me to fall asleep on this neverending day/day-and-a-half that started in Atlanta on the 5th and ended in France on the 6th. Beginning this trip in a very “me” fashion surely made today feel like a lifetime.
So in conclusion and on the bright side – I am here – in France – and I made it in ONE piece (‘one’ being a very strong, yet loosely defined word in this sense). At the end of the day, after the ups and the downs, I still know that I am a strong person and I can definitely handle this, however, the saying 100% reigns true that “ONE is the loneliest number.” But hey, it’s only day ONE and things can only get better from here. Tomorrow being day two is a fantastic start…
For Dan’s birthday we went out to eat at a restaurant on the beach (literally ON the beach…our table/feet were in the sand) called Le Jetee. I had salmon and Dan had steak. Some highlights: listening to the calm waves of the Mediterranean hit the beach as we ate, watching the sunset from the dinner table, the amazing waitstaff and how nice they were to us — our waiter even surprised us with two complimentary birthday shots at the end of dessert.
Off The Duff 