Author: thelongmosey

Breakfasts at the Baymont Inn were an interesting affair.

First thing to greet you of a morning is the ever cheerful Laurie.

“Good morning, welcome to Breakfast, how are you today?”

I have never in my life been expecting a welcome to breakfast and I could not have dreamt of it being done with such delight and gusto at 6.30 am.

The breakfast was an array of all things individually wrapped and served on plastic. Laurie took great delight in telling us about everything. Laurie is a talker.

She is from Florida. She has a daughter. Her daughter is a teacher, but not in Florida, in New York, because you can’t afford to be a teacher in Florida. But she only drives a crappy car because there is no point getting a good one in New York, and she has to park it 20 minutes walk away, because there is no parking in Brooklyn. I know this because Laurie is a talker.

Most of the usual suspects were there.

Yoghurts (“oh look at these yoghurts, good brands you know, not cheap. Activia. And the other one Yooooplait, real good”) Porridge (“and the porridge, there’s maple, and pecan, real easy, take a pack for later, snack in your room, why not you paid for it, it’s free”), fruit (“FRUIT! Take one for later”), coffee (“ the red is decaf, that one doesn’t wake you up in the morning you know you stay sleepy, but the black one, woooooooooooo thats strong, its like gas, that will get you going in the morning”) there were baked goods like bagels and muffins (“apparently these are real good, guests love them, I don’t know, I’ve never eaten anything here, I’m not allowed”), make-your-own waffles (“you want me to teach you, I’ll teach you” fair play too, given my attempt at waffles in Iceland where one erupted like INSERT VOLCANO NAME and the other ended up as an undersized square biscuit of the burnt variety that resulted in me being pointed and laughed at across a dining hall, passing the sniggers as I retreated to a howling Conny and the sanctuary of my table, these were sterling efforts)

cereals(“kelloggs…good brand) then shit got weird.

I spotted a slow cooker. With what looked like cooked wholegrain porridge. I enquired as to it’s contents.

“That’s gravy. Pork Gravy.”

Pork gravy, I shit you not! PORK FUCKING GRAVY, WHO ON EARTH DECIDED THIS WAS BREAKFAST FODDER!?!

“You put it on biscuits, and warm it up”

Now by biscuits she means scones. We call biscuits biscuits, they call them cookies. We call scones scones. They call them biscuits. They have scones too, only their scones are cakes. We call cakes cakes. Anyway, I digress.

SCONES AND FUCKING PORK GRAVY??!!! FOR BREAKFAST???!!! WHO COULD EVER THINK SUCH AN UNGODLY CONCOCTION WAS BREAKFAST FODDER?

Americans apparently. Lots of them. They bloody loved it.

And the eggs.

Boiled. Peeled AND INDIVIDUALLY ZIP LOCKED AND PLACED ON ICE! Who does this crazy shit?

Well, despite the oddness, it went down well, and filled a hole, and Laurie is a delightful way to start a morning. Turns out though. Laurie was not appreciated by all. There were many a snide remark from our next door table, but sadly as Laurie’s English was not native and they went over her head. I should have known they would be a bit off though. This couple of bright and perky ladies, probably in their sixties or seventies, all smiles and niceness, gave some classic tell tale signs to their world-view. Given their sporting-gran attire and T-shirts emblazoned with GLORY USA and U S of A we shall call them Glory 1 and Glory 2.

Upon hearing Laurie and I discuss biscuits and gravy (during which I contained all my horror and merely stated I was vegetarian) I heard a balk from Glory 1

“Vegetarian, oh may the good Lord take you soon”

she looks at my beard “I bet you don’t eat pork then either” then Glory 2 chimes in with,

“if you dont eat meat then what else is there?” I look at their meat free plates, then back at them.

“Erm, everything else, vegetables” I stopped listening as she mumbled about a cousin requiring midnight jell-O snacks on account of his not getting enough good stuff from his vegetarian diet.

If that weren’t enough, then they realised I have an accent.

“So you’re British. What do you think about your new Mayor”

I at this point chose not to point out that I am not from London, but from Leek. I don’t even know if Leek still has a mayor. Let alone am I aware of his or her ethnicity. But I see where she is going and say I think Mr Kahn is a good choice. Seems sensible, reason seems to be his MO and he is definitely a voice against the militant branch of Islam and might be exactly what we need to curb some of those voices in their community that lean towards extremism and radicalisation.

Her face screwed. Like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I hope for your sakes you’re right”

It’s hard to explain how they managed to deliver this while at all times being polite and smiley and wishing us well on our onward journey. I genuinely think they thought they were being nice. I get the idea they would be still smiling as they wipe their blade clean and they would wish me a good journey as the last burst of blood spurts from my neck, happy that they had sent me to a better place humanely.

The last day with Laurie, I simply said thanks, and told her how nice it was to be greated so warmly and with such verve in the morning and asked for a photo. Clearly this had never happened before. She was visibly moved. She took us to one side and offered us tickets to disneyworld in florida, or anywhere in the world. She has 9 lifetime tickets and offered two to us. Obviously we declined, but really, people must not be overly appreciative of her efforts if thats all it takes.

I look across the dining room. Glory 1 is at the biscuits and gravy station, and notices me “Oh hi you two!” Like she spotted long lost friends “have a great trip!”

Here are some things I learned on Day 1:

Frankfurt is a ginormous airport.

It is staffed by tremendously rude and unhelpful people (at least with Condor).

2 hours sleep and a minging hangover does not a nice journey make (Conny taught me this).

I do not look like someone the Americans want in their country.

The flight from Zurich to Frankfurt went well, was typically Swiss in that it ran like clockwork was perfectly pleasant and arrived on time.

Then we hit Frankfurt. That place is a monster. We arrived with a good two hours to spare before flight time, but as soon as we got off the plane were told we were boarding. As we trudged the miles and miles of corridors it dawned on us that this was a pre-emptive measure, so that people didn’t assume their transit would take mere minutes like one would expect, and in fact that that the required hours were accounted for. I fear this was also the case with the check in procedure. We watched in horror as a family who thought they had the correct tickets were offered no help. But just told that they didn’t have the correct tickets (they needed to show onward flight from the US). Until the point the lady said you have five minutes to book a ticket or you cannot fly. Now at this point, if not before, you may have thought someone from their alliance would have offered to help organise something, after all they are an airline. But no, the lady delighted the moment the 5 minutes was up in telling her too late. She promptly turned her back and that was that.

So the flight was cramped and had either modern family or a crap Sandler movie, but was pleasant enough…USA, touchdown!

Or so I thought.

I was looking forward to using my new snazzy passport. Conny just used the automated control system and the moment her ticket to the control booths is printed, catastrophic system failure.

Now, I have dramatised this a little, the system needed a reboot, but as Conny already had a ticket they ushered her onwards and me back to the machines…fine…I thought, no worries, but I ask the guy, as I am travelling with my girlfriend (we all know that means “she is my keeper and has all that paper stuff”) but he assures me no need. So I play the fancy arcade game that is passport control, I win and collect my ticket to the passport control officer.

Then things get wonky.

She asks how long I’m staying. 88 days.

She asks why I am here. To see the States.

She asks how long. 88 days.

She asks what my profession is. I state unemployed…thinking jobless vagabond is a step too far.

She says where are you staying. I give my sister in law’s family address to save confusion.

OK Sir please stand to one side while I process these other folk.

Hmmmmm I think. She says no worries, but then asks me to follow her. Again, as I pass Conny in her queue I say “my girlfriend is just there, can I just let her know?…”

I am told no need. Ten seconds later as I clock the direction I am headed, and the boarded office with mirrored windows I began to fear for the sanctity of my bumhole.

I enter. Am promptly told to take a seat. I am promptly called to the desk the moment I sit down.

Policeman asks same questions. He is having none of it. He asks my profession, he finds it hard to believe some one can travel for 88 days with no job, I tell him its hard to have a job when you are travelling for 88 days.

He asks for my contact details in Oregon, I give them, but my sister in law’s mobile is not acceptable, apparently, so I have nothing to give.

I tell him that Conny is the keeper of the records and that I have a penis so am not good with that stuff (OK I’m paraphrasing but it was clearly the hidden meaning behind my words).

Nope, she’s my sister in law, so that’s not good enough for him. I should have a landline number apparently.

I tell him my further plans, that I have organised a rental, from Jucy for a camper, I even tell him its on Doolitle Drive in San Leandro…nope not good enough, again he asks for papers. I again mention my keeper. He doesn’t buy it.

Then comes the “Where is this girlfriend? If you are travelling together, why isn’t she here, why are you travelling separately?”

Now at this point, the balloon knot in my pants was both quivering and puckered, but I am not sure if it was through rage or fear for what was to come…“BECAUSE YOU FUCKERS SPLIT US UP AND TOLD ME NOT TO GET HER AS YOU BROUGHT ME TO THIS DEN OF ANAL VIOLATION” I thought, but I said, quite politely “the lady told me I didn’t need her here, it was you who split us up when you had a system failure”

At this point, I really thought he was going to snap on the rubber glove and wear me like a puppet right there. BUT HAIL! The shining light of law enforcement comes in, asks the guy who I am, the guy twists every part of my tale “this guy has come, he claims, to visit his sister in law and go camping with her for 88 days”

“That’s not what I said at all” I interject.

“You said you hired a camper with your sister in law to travel for 88 days”

“I said no such thing…”

Good cop pipes up “You’re here to go on a trip aren’t you?”

“Yes” I nod agreeingly.

“You are going to your siter in law’s first then moving on with your trip aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes”

“Your girlfriend is waiting downstairs isn’t she?”

“YES!”

He turns to his colleague, “this guy is clearly on holiday, why do you have him here, just get him out of here and move him along”

STAMP.

Done

And unpucker.