My car is broken... I have had it for about two weeks and I am already having problems. This is not a problem that I can blame on a bad car dealer. It is my fault. Last night, I drove home from Walmart and I heard a scrapping sound and thought nothing of it thinking that it was a just something that I drove over and the front of my car just scrapped over it. I went outside to go to work and found a giant puddle of oil surrounding my car. I had to go to work, so I drove to the gas station and filled my car up with two quarts of oil to get me to work.
On my lunch break, I went to my car to get something out and found 8 dollars worth of oil puddled around my car. NO!!!! If it isn't problems with transcripts or people jumping in front of my train it is something with my new car. Each week, there is a new stressor. This week it is my car. I went back inside work and informed my manager that I needed to leave and take care of my car problem, but I can't take care of my car today since it is Sunday and every auto mechanic is off, so I have to wait until tomorrow for my brand new car to get towed to a mechanic and looked at by the claims guy from Geico. I can only hope that they will cover it and I will only have to pay the $250 deductible while my car is fixed. I spoke to my friend Miranda's husband (who works for State Farm Insurance) and he said the damage may cost over $1000!!!!!
I am still waiting for my burst of good luck. I know my problems sound so petty, but it is frustrating that I have some sort of major issue that hinders me from doing my day to day activities smoothly. I feel like I am constantly stressing out about something. I know stress can be good, but I think this is true only in small doses. It can't be a good thing if I am always having a problem. My life is like a game and each week I have to figure out how to solve my problem. so this is my rant.
Other than that my transition back to the states hasn't been too bad. I miss Grenoble. Last week, I had a few problems with my transcripts, but I got it all worked out.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Running, Running, GONE
01/10/08
I always wanted to be that person who runs through the airport. I used to imagine where they had to be in such a rush-business trip? honeymoon? It always seemed so exciting and I yearned for their adrenaline rush.
Yesterday was my moment in the spotlight, but I wasn't as successful as my role models and I failed miserably. As fate has it, I am not in Missouri. I had three flights, three layovers, a train ride, customs, security, and a four hour drive home, so there was plenty of room for error. My first flight was through AirFrance from Geneva to Paris. This is where my troubles began. In an attempt to save time, I had the gentleman at the check-in counter check my luggage through my whole trip (my Geneva trip wasn't in my original itinerary and was added towards the end through AirFrance in order to get me to the airport in Paris on time).
On my plane to Paris, I had an epiphany. It hit me that my luggage ticket was marked YYZ (the code for the Toronto airport) when it should have also had STL. Ok. Don't stress. At the check in counter in Paris, I was asked if I spoke English or French. English. Then the cheeky guy replied, "Well I speak French." Ok? Since I have a hard time speaking even in English, I cheated. I explained my problem and he looked at me with a blank stare and said "Ok..." When I asked if there was anything I could do he told me no. I was concerned about the time and he assured me that I would be fine.
I was still concerned when I was on the plane, so I befriended a flight attendant who also told me that I should have enough time to get on my plane. He told me where I needed to go and in which order. I was flipping through the airline magazine and found a map of the Toronto airport, so I memorized my route. I was prepared to run like the wind when I got off the plane.
We landed at 2:30 pm and by the time I got through Canadian customs, it was 2:50. I waited for my luggage to arrive and at about 3:00, my two blue suitcases came passing around on the belt. I piled them up and ran to the exit. I went through another checkpoint where I had to show them my passport again and then the lady informed me that I needed to go through US customs. ah! I had one hour until my flight departed. When I got upstairs, I was running with all of my luggage and I had plenty of strange looks. I was second in line waiting to check my luggage in and a lady went around asking people when their flights were departing. I told her I had 40 minutes and she looked at my ticket and told me "Oh no, you aren't getting on that flight. It has already left. You are too late." I told her "No, I had 40 minutes and it wasn't my fault." I explained the situation and prayed over and over in my head that I could get home that same day.
I was tired and sick and the thought of missing my flight and not getting home made me upset. I started to cry. Then the lady who was rebooking me asked for assistance "because she couldn't deal with this." She handed me a new itinerary and telephone number to call for hotels and sent me on my way. I tried to rebook another flight but it would cost me over $1000, so I sucked it up. I have finally made it back in Missouri after over 40 hours of travel. I am exhausted and the jet lag is killing me.
I always wanted to be that person who runs through the airport. I used to imagine where they had to be in such a rush-business trip? honeymoon? It always seemed so exciting and I yearned for their adrenaline rush.
Yesterday was my moment in the spotlight, but I wasn't as successful as my role models and I failed miserably. As fate has it, I am not in Missouri. I had three flights, three layovers, a train ride, customs, security, and a four hour drive home, so there was plenty of room for error. My first flight was through AirFrance from Geneva to Paris. This is where my troubles began. In an attempt to save time, I had the gentleman at the check-in counter check my luggage through my whole trip (my Geneva trip wasn't in my original itinerary and was added towards the end through AirFrance in order to get me to the airport in Paris on time).
On my plane to Paris, I had an epiphany. It hit me that my luggage ticket was marked YYZ (the code for the Toronto airport) when it should have also had STL. Ok. Don't stress. At the check in counter in Paris, I was asked if I spoke English or French. English. Then the cheeky guy replied, "Well I speak French." Ok? Since I have a hard time speaking even in English, I cheated. I explained my problem and he looked at me with a blank stare and said "Ok..." When I asked if there was anything I could do he told me no. I was concerned about the time and he assured me that I would be fine.
I was still concerned when I was on the plane, so I befriended a flight attendant who also told me that I should have enough time to get on my plane. He told me where I needed to go and in which order. I was flipping through the airline magazine and found a map of the Toronto airport, so I memorized my route. I was prepared to run like the wind when I got off the plane.
We landed at 2:30 pm and by the time I got through Canadian customs, it was 2:50. I waited for my luggage to arrive and at about 3:00, my two blue suitcases came passing around on the belt. I piled them up and ran to the exit. I went through another checkpoint where I had to show them my passport again and then the lady informed me that I needed to go through US customs. ah! I had one hour until my flight departed. When I got upstairs, I was running with all of my luggage and I had plenty of strange looks. I was second in line waiting to check my luggage in and a lady went around asking people when their flights were departing. I told her I had 40 minutes and she looked at my ticket and told me "Oh no, you aren't getting on that flight. It has already left. You are too late." I told her "No, I had 40 minutes and it wasn't my fault." I explained the situation and prayed over and over in my head that I could get home that same day.
I was tired and sick and the thought of missing my flight and not getting home made me upset. I started to cry. Then the lady who was rebooking me asked for assistance "because she couldn't deal with this." She handed me a new itinerary and telephone number to call for hotels and sent me on my way. I tried to rebook another flight but it would cost me over $1000, so I sucked it up. I have finally made it back in Missouri after over 40 hours of travel. I am exhausted and the jet lag is killing me.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Leaving Grenoble and Lost in Translation
Date: 28 Decembre 2007
My two overstuffed suitcases were packed and I stared at them hoping that they would magically teleport down the stairs to the accueil (the reception) of my residence hall. Determined and ready to go, I grabbed one and made my way down the hallway. It was morning, so the cleaning ladies were busy at work. My favorite cleaning lady came running to the stairwell when she heard my suitcase being thrown against the wall. She leaned over the rail and asked "Tu as des amies?" ("Do I have some friends") "Non," I replied as I carried on. The words "C'est dommage pour toi" (basically this means:sucks to be me). I did have friends at one point, but they were gone. Miya had offered to help me when I knocked at her door at 9 am to give her the remainder of things that would not fit, but I knew she only offered her service to me to be polite, and I did not want to bother her. Besides, I could handle this on my own. Eventually I made it to the accueil (and she is my favorite cleaning lady because she helped me by watching over my luggage while I went to my room to get the others) and I turned in my keys.
The hardest part was not over yet. I still had to get through a bus and a tram to get to the train station with two large suitcases, a backpack, a purse, and a camera bag. I had plenty of time and I had selected a direct train to Geneva, so I wouldn't have to change and deal with moving my luggage around. When I got to the train station, I was relieved to see an elevator. This made my day...well for about five minutes. When I reached the bottom, I probably looked like a sad puppy when I realized that an elevator did not exist for my platform. The only way to get back up where I needed was to take two flights of stairs. People were rushing past me and I continued to drag my suitcases up the stairs. Finally, a gentleman helped me with one of my suitcases. He was very helpful. When we reached the top, he asked where I was going and he informed me that since I will be going to Geneva I would need to sit in the back part of the train (because the train was going to two different places and would eventually split away). He was also going to Geneva so when the train finally arrived, he helped me carry my suitcases onto the train. I sat near the door in the foyer (I don't know if this word really is used properly, but it is the best I could think of to describe the set up) of the train to ensure that I could exit quickly, in order to avoid upsetting anyone for the length of time it would take me to get off. In the foyer I sat at on a bench that seats about 4 people and it faces another bench. My new friend who was helping me, Dris (pronounced like Greece with a D), sat next to me. At this point I was exhausted, having only about four hours of sleep the night before, so I put my headphones on and drifted away.
I was awoken when I heard the conductor make an announcement and the only words I heard were "personne, accident, arretons (stop)." Someone committed suicide in front of my train! So, they could just clean up the mess and my train could move along right? Things had to get complicated because I am in France so no, this meant that we had to stay on the train for 45 minutes and then wait outside for a bus. During my 45 minute wait, I listened to the girl in front of me tell us in great detail how when she was 17 years old she actually saw someone commit suicide in front of the train. She started to tell us how is head was swollen up like a balloon and it was that moment that I had wished that I could not understand French and I tried to turn my self off but I couldn't stop listening.
When the bus showed up, people fought for places to put their luggage in the lower compartment and I felt like I was on the Titanic how everyone pushed their ways to get on the bus. Not a single place remained for me, so I had to get my suitcases out from the bottom and wait for the next bus. Dris helped me out and sat next to me on the thirty minute bus ride to the next train station in Chambery and I tried to avoid eye contact so I didn't have to have any awkward/forced conversations.
In Chambery, Dris and I had about 3 minutes to run to the catch our train to Geneva. When we got on the train we discovered that the train was practically full, so we decided to treat ourselves to first class.
I was now forced to talk to Dris for about an hour and a half. I found my terrible listening comprehension/attention span getting me into trouble. I had to make up lies to cover up my weakness. Dris asked me if I had ever had to go to the train station in Geneva in order to transfer to Lausanne and I said no (this is a huge lie) for reasons I don't remember-I do know that I misunderstood him. He later offered his service to help me navigate around the train station since it is pretty tricky. When he asked how many times I had been to Lausanne, I lied so make it sound more believable about me never going to through the Geneva train station and said it was my 2nd time and the first time I went through Paris. I couldn't believe how the lies just floated out of my mouth.
About thirty minutes before we arrived to Geneva, Dris offered me his business card with his email address and cell phone number. He wanted to practice his English, so he said he would write to me in French (which he never mentioned that he was learning English nor that he has studied it before) and I could reply in English. Harmless. We passed beautiful scenery and I gazed out the window on the other aisle. I noticed in the reflection that he was watching me. Awkward. Then he excitedly asked me what color my eyes were. I said green, as it was quite obvious and then he commented about how beautiful they were. ok?
Suddenly our train stopped and I probably had stress written all over my face, because this guy was starting to turn creepy and I had had enough of train drama. Dris probably could sense my panic, so he grabbed my hand assuring me that everything was fine and that we were in Switzerland now and nothing bad happens on the trains. eeek. I quickly removed my hand from his and I could feel it burning where his had had once been. About five minutes had passed and we began to move again. thank God! Then Dris grabbed my hand again making me promise that I would go out to dinner with him if I came to Geneva. yea yea sure fine whatever. I wanted off of the train at this point.
We arrived in Geneva, and Dris gave me a tour of the train station and helped me once again load my luggage on the train and then gave me three bisous on my cheeks and said "À bientôt." However I knew that that would be the last time I would ever see him again. Lesson learned: you can't trust everyone even if they seem to have good intentions
My two overstuffed suitcases were packed and I stared at them hoping that they would magically teleport down the stairs to the accueil (the reception) of my residence hall. Determined and ready to go, I grabbed one and made my way down the hallway. It was morning, so the cleaning ladies were busy at work. My favorite cleaning lady came running to the stairwell when she heard my suitcase being thrown against the wall. She leaned over the rail and asked "Tu as des amies?" ("Do I have some friends") "Non," I replied as I carried on. The words "C'est dommage pour toi" (basically this means:sucks to be me). I did have friends at one point, but they were gone. Miya had offered to help me when I knocked at her door at 9 am to give her the remainder of things that would not fit, but I knew she only offered her service to me to be polite, and I did not want to bother her. Besides, I could handle this on my own. Eventually I made it to the accueil (and she is my favorite cleaning lady because she helped me by watching over my luggage while I went to my room to get the others) and I turned in my keys.
The hardest part was not over yet. I still had to get through a bus and a tram to get to the train station with two large suitcases, a backpack, a purse, and a camera bag. I had plenty of time and I had selected a direct train to Geneva, so I wouldn't have to change and deal with moving my luggage around. When I got to the train station, I was relieved to see an elevator. This made my day...well for about five minutes. When I reached the bottom, I probably looked like a sad puppy when I realized that an elevator did not exist for my platform. The only way to get back up where I needed was to take two flights of stairs. People were rushing past me and I continued to drag my suitcases up the stairs. Finally, a gentleman helped me with one of my suitcases. He was very helpful. When we reached the top, he asked where I was going and he informed me that since I will be going to Geneva I would need to sit in the back part of the train (because the train was going to two different places and would eventually split away). He was also going to Geneva so when the train finally arrived, he helped me carry my suitcases onto the train. I sat near the door in the foyer (I don't know if this word really is used properly, but it is the best I could think of to describe the set up) of the train to ensure that I could exit quickly, in order to avoid upsetting anyone for the length of time it would take me to get off. In the foyer I sat at on a bench that seats about 4 people and it faces another bench. My new friend who was helping me, Dris (pronounced like Greece with a D), sat next to me. At this point I was exhausted, having only about four hours of sleep the night before, so I put my headphones on and drifted away.
I was awoken when I heard the conductor make an announcement and the only words I heard were "personne, accident, arretons (stop)." Someone committed suicide in front of my train! So, they could just clean up the mess and my train could move along right? Things had to get complicated because I am in France so no, this meant that we had to stay on the train for 45 minutes and then wait outside for a bus. During my 45 minute wait, I listened to the girl in front of me tell us in great detail how when she was 17 years old she actually saw someone commit suicide in front of the train. She started to tell us how is head was swollen up like a balloon and it was that moment that I had wished that I could not understand French and I tried to turn my self off but I couldn't stop listening.
When the bus showed up, people fought for places to put their luggage in the lower compartment and I felt like I was on the Titanic how everyone pushed their ways to get on the bus. Not a single place remained for me, so I had to get my suitcases out from the bottom and wait for the next bus. Dris helped me out and sat next to me on the thirty minute bus ride to the next train station in Chambery and I tried to avoid eye contact so I didn't have to have any awkward/forced conversations.
In Chambery, Dris and I had about 3 minutes to run to the catch our train to Geneva. When we got on the train we discovered that the train was practically full, so we decided to treat ourselves to first class.
I was now forced to talk to Dris for about an hour and a half. I found my terrible listening comprehension/attention span getting me into trouble. I had to make up lies to cover up my weakness. Dris asked me if I had ever had to go to the train station in Geneva in order to transfer to Lausanne and I said no (this is a huge lie) for reasons I don't remember-I do know that I misunderstood him. He later offered his service to help me navigate around the train station since it is pretty tricky. When he asked how many times I had been to Lausanne, I lied so make it sound more believable about me never going to through the Geneva train station and said it was my 2nd time and the first time I went through Paris. I couldn't believe how the lies just floated out of my mouth.
About thirty minutes before we arrived to Geneva, Dris offered me his business card with his email address and cell phone number. He wanted to practice his English, so he said he would write to me in French (which he never mentioned that he was learning English nor that he has studied it before) and I could reply in English. Harmless. We passed beautiful scenery and I gazed out the window on the other aisle. I noticed in the reflection that he was watching me. Awkward. Then he excitedly asked me what color my eyes were. I said green, as it was quite obvious and then he commented about how beautiful they were. ok?
Suddenly our train stopped and I probably had stress written all over my face, because this guy was starting to turn creepy and I had had enough of train drama. Dris probably could sense my panic, so he grabbed my hand assuring me that everything was fine and that we were in Switzerland now and nothing bad happens on the trains. eeek. I quickly removed my hand from his and I could feel it burning where his had had once been. About five minutes had passed and we began to move again. thank God! Then Dris grabbed my hand again making me promise that I would go out to dinner with him if I came to Geneva. yea yea sure fine whatever. I wanted off of the train at this point.
We arrived in Geneva, and Dris gave me a tour of the train station and helped me once again load my luggage on the train and then gave me three bisous on my cheeks and said "À bientôt." However I knew that that would be the last time I would ever see him again. Lesson learned: you can't trust everyone even if they seem to have good intentions
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