There was a dog. I'm not exactly sure who it belonged to, but The Boy was in love with it, so it ended up at our house a lot. I found out the Crazy family had had a dog a couple of years ago, but it scared DC and they had to get rid of it. You can assume how I feel about that dog.
But this was a small dog. Not an anooying yippy one, just a small brown and white one. Named Ramone. That was my favorite part. Anyway the dog was sweet and loving and DC was obsessed with it. Obsessed with chasing it, and smacking it, and screaming at it, and his favorite was to take Ramone's leash and drag him around the house. That way he couldn't hide under a table like he tended to do.
That is also why I started hiding the leash anytime Ramone came over.
I say this to justufy Ramone's behavior.
Most of the kids would go and hang out down at the tennis court while lessons were going on. And Ramone was there. Now the children loved him, but I assume it's a bit overwheling to a dog to have a bunch of kids chasing you and screaming at you.
So all of sudden Ramone went nutso barking and attacking small children and trying to bite them.
So all the little Greek children started screaming and freaking out and running in circles, and no one else was doing anything, and Hot Tennis Instructor was looking, so I did what any American would do. I grabbed a tennis racket in one hand, and Ramone's leash in the other. I love the circus, and I had seen enough of the lion tamers with the chairs to get an idea of what I was doing. I used the tennis racket to dstract Ramone, and as his teeth clamped down on it, I used my other hand to snap the leash on Ramone. And he magically calmed down. I leaned down and petted him, as all the kids kept running in circles and screaming, and I whispered soothing English words to him. I'm pretty sure he spoke English.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
And Finally Introducing...The Hot Tennis Instructor
At sround 8 that night The Girl and The Boy went down to the tennis courts for their tennis lessons as they would every night. Tennis is a rich people thing. It was all very much a rich people thing. Every night the kids would each get an individual tennis lesson. The Girl was pretty awful, but The Boy was really good.
I was left with DC again, when my savior G recommended we take DC and go watch their tennis lessons. DC really loved and was extremely attached to G, so everything was much easier when she was there. And she usually was every night.
So we took DC and headed down to the tennis courts. And this is when I realized I was living in an episode of Desperate Housewives. Or an ABC Family movie. This was also the beginning of me finding out that all those cliches about rich people, they're all true.
There, teaching one of the other kids tennis was the most attractive Greek man I had ever or will ever see. Starting with the fact that he was about my age, which already made him more awesome than anyone I had met so far.
Now let me preface by saying that tennis players are not really my cup of tea. They're too clean cut, too preppy, and don't have the right body type. I'm more a fan of the basketball type-tall and lanky. But I also have a preferred, hmm-coloring, for lack of better term. Brown skin, dark hair and eyes. And he had short dark hair, dark eyes and pretty brown skin. He was built quite well, and as I promised full disclosure-great butt.
He had on black basketball shorts, a white T shirt, and athletic shoes. Considering the only people I had seen in the past three days were children, Crazy parents, and the Filipino housekeeping couple- I was drooling.
But this was all made even better, that on the side of the court by the net, was a lawn chair where the young rich Grek mother sat and watched "her son's tennis lesson."
It was pretty amazing, this super thin rich woman, with big sunglasses, and a sarong wrapped around her swimsuit, sitting there ogling the young hot tennis instructor.
I had to pick my jaw off the floor at the sheer cliched awesomeness of it.
I was left with DC again, when my savior G recommended we take DC and go watch their tennis lessons. DC really loved and was extremely attached to G, so everything was much easier when she was there. And she usually was every night.
So we took DC and headed down to the tennis courts. And this is when I realized I was living in an episode of Desperate Housewives. Or an ABC Family movie. This was also the beginning of me finding out that all those cliches about rich people, they're all true.
There, teaching one of the other kids tennis was the most attractive Greek man I had ever or will ever see. Starting with the fact that he was about my age, which already made him more awesome than anyone I had met so far.
Now let me preface by saying that tennis players are not really my cup of tea. They're too clean cut, too preppy, and don't have the right body type. I'm more a fan of the basketball type-tall and lanky. But I also have a preferred, hmm-coloring, for lack of better term. Brown skin, dark hair and eyes. And he had short dark hair, dark eyes and pretty brown skin. He was built quite well, and as I promised full disclosure-great butt.
He had on black basketball shorts, a white T shirt, and athletic shoes. Considering the only people I had seen in the past three days were children, Crazy parents, and the Filipino housekeeping couple- I was drooling.
But this was all made even better, that on the side of the court by the net, was a lawn chair where the young rich Grek mother sat and watched "her son's tennis lesson."
It was pretty amazing, this super thin rich woman, with big sunglasses, and a sarong wrapped around her swimsuit, sitting there ogling the young hot tennis instructor.
I had to pick my jaw off the floor at the sheer cliched awesomeness of it.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Presenting Papouli and Yaya
I feel a little bad. We're only on my second day there, and I'm already up to 20 chapters. At this rate we could go on forever. But, I plow on.
So, once all the kids got back from the beach, I once again took over DC. And then the parents disappeared. This would happen a lot. All of a sudden the parents would just be gone. They wouldn't say anything to me. I never knew where they were going. I never knew when they would be back. It was always incredibly frustrating.
But this time, they left and in came two old Greek people. Now this is what I was expecting when I thought of Greek people. He was old and big with white hair and an animated face. She was round, and her face was always made-up. They looked exactly like the old people on My Big Fat Greek Wedding. And they would be a lot nicer to me than their children.
They came in and introduced themselves. Apparently, the Yaya spoke almost no English, but Papouli spoke English quite well. Once their, we all sat down at the table for lunch for pasta and tomato cucumber salad. I loved the grandparents. Here's how our typical interactions would go with me eating:
"You want salad?!"
"oh, I uh..."
"You want salad! Go get a plate for your sald!"
This would be repeated with any food. It was nice to know they at least cared if I was eating and always made me feel welcome and a part of the family. Unlike anyone else so far. So I ate a lot, but they both fussed over me saying I barely ate. It was nice, the type of Greek people you expect.
So, once all the kids got back from the beach, I once again took over DC. And then the parents disappeared. This would happen a lot. All of a sudden the parents would just be gone. They wouldn't say anything to me. I never knew where they were going. I never knew when they would be back. It was always incredibly frustrating.
But this time, they left and in came two old Greek people. Now this is what I was expecting when I thought of Greek people. He was old and big with white hair and an animated face. She was round, and her face was always made-up. They looked exactly like the old people on My Big Fat Greek Wedding. And they would be a lot nicer to me than their children.
They came in and introduced themselves. Apparently, the Yaya spoke almost no English, but Papouli spoke English quite well. Once their, we all sat down at the table for lunch for pasta and tomato cucumber salad. I loved the grandparents. Here's how our typical interactions would go with me eating:
"You want salad?!"
"oh, I uh..."
"You want salad! Go get a plate for your sald!"
This would be repeated with any food. It was nice to know they at least cared if I was eating and always made me feel welcome and a part of the family. Unlike anyone else so far. So I ate a lot, but they both fussed over me saying I barely ate. It was nice, the type of Greek people you expect.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Everything Else is Falling Apart
While hanging out with G and Bert, the airport called to say that they were dropping off my luggage. Bert headed down to meet them and bring it back. And as I saw him come back up th path, he carried my suitcase on his head, which I thought was odd, but figured it was maybe a Filipino thing.
Now my suitcase has been through a lot-a summer in Cali, Egypt, Russia, and moving in and out of dorms and apartments and back home over a dozen times. It wasn't in great shape, but it was still very functional. WAS functional. As Bert came back I went out to meet him to take it back to my bungalow when he set it down in front of me, "Is broken."
I looked down and saw that the top handle, where you pull the handle out so you can pull it as it rolls, had come completely out. There was the handle, and it was no longer attached to any fabric surrounding it. I tried to pull it, and the entiree handle came out, including the bars that went back the entire length of the luggage. I just pulled the thing clean out and stared at it as Bert started laughing. It was pretty incredible. I don't even know how the Greek airport managed to accomplish it. It's pretty incredible. I dragged it inside and started taking pictures for insurance purposes. I figured maybe some duct tape or something, it could at least make it home. If someone's knows how I can put pics on here, I will.
I told Mrs. Crazy about it later that night and she called the airport to talk to them. She also told me, that recently they had gone to Egypt, and the airport had completely lost their luggage never to be seen again, and they were still waiting for their monetary reimbursement.
I didn't have high hopes, but they came and took my suitcase, and the next day came back with a brand new one that was even bigger and a lot nicer. Apparently, Mrs. Crazy told them I was here to visit and would be leaving the next day.
So, I got a really nice brand-new suitcase. I have to think that's one of the good things that came out of this.
Now my suitcase has been through a lot-a summer in Cali, Egypt, Russia, and moving in and out of dorms and apartments and back home over a dozen times. It wasn't in great shape, but it was still very functional. WAS functional. As Bert came back I went out to meet him to take it back to my bungalow when he set it down in front of me, "Is broken."
I looked down and saw that the top handle, where you pull the handle out so you can pull it as it rolls, had come completely out. There was the handle, and it was no longer attached to any fabric surrounding it. I tried to pull it, and the entiree handle came out, including the bars that went back the entire length of the luggage. I just pulled the thing clean out and stared at it as Bert started laughing. It was pretty incredible. I don't even know how the Greek airport managed to accomplish it. It's pretty incredible. I dragged it inside and started taking pictures for insurance purposes. I figured maybe some duct tape or something, it could at least make it home. If someone's knows how I can put pics on here, I will.
I told Mrs. Crazy about it later that night and she called the airport to talk to them. She also told me, that recently they had gone to Egypt, and the airport had completely lost their luggage never to be seen again, and they were still waiting for their monetary reimbursement.
I didn't have high hopes, but they came and took my suitcase, and the next day came back with a brand new one that was even bigger and a lot nicer. Apparently, Mrs. Crazy told them I was here to visit and would be leaving the next day.
So, I got a really nice brand-new suitcase. I have to think that's one of the good things that came out of this.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Story of G and Bert
Anyways, they left for the beach, and I decided to stay around with G and Bert. As soon as they left, which would become routine, Bert grabbed the remote and turned it to basketball. I had gotten very lucky because Bert would later explain to me that the basketball equivalent of the World Cup was going on right now. I love basketball, so the fact that that is what everyone watched when children weren't present was fine with me. I also discovered that I'm a huge fan of the Turkish basketball team. They were good looking. All of them were very good looking.
And so Bert sat down on the couch to watch the game, and I joined him. After G was done cleaning the kitchen she came in to join us and we got to talking.
G and Bert were really good at English. Better than any Greek I had met. Which is another reason I would like them better than anyone else. Over the course of the week I would learn almost everything about them.
G was 40, but I had assumed she was in her late 20s. She was short with dark skin and short glossy black hair that was always in a ponytail. And she always wore T shirts and plaid shorts. Bert was 28 and skinny. I had actually thought he was very cute upon first meeting him. Apparently the lived in the same town in the Phillipines but really never talked to each other. G was one of the older single women and one day she got a text from Bert that said, "I heard you are still single. You seem great. Go out with me?"
She didn't even know ho it was from, but texted him back and they started dating. They had been married for 6 years and had a 2 year-ol son named Jean. He was back in the Phillipines living with G's sister. She had a lot of pictures of him on her phone and talked about how much she missed him.
She had come to Greece to find a housekeeping job. I guess there are a lot of Filipino people who go to Greece for work. Bert had followed later. She had been cleaning houses for years and ha had some very goos and very bad experiences.
Apparently the hardest thing was finding someone who would take both her and her husband, because most people only wanted her.
And she had been taking all the moneey she made and sending it back home to friends and family all these years. She tried to explain that that was why she was still so poor, "Jill. You are young. Save. You must save your money." She would give me a lot of good advice.
She had actually had a teaching degree in English back in the Phillipines, but there had been no jobs available. SO here she as. She also spoke Greek very well. Bert spoke none, but she had tried to explain that she learned it because at one of the first houses she stayed at she had watched soap operas in Greek and ha just taken to it.
The Greek people like to say as soon as they learn you know no Greek,"Ah! Greek is the hardest language in the world to learn. Very hard!"
I hadn't thought much of it since I tended to pick up languages pretty well when I lived in them. Arabic had come naturally to me while I was in Egypt. But along with my body reacting badly, my brain was also having none of it. By the time I left, even though no one there speaks English, I would only have about 4 words in Greek.
And so Bert sat down on the couch to watch the game, and I joined him. After G was done cleaning the kitchen she came in to join us and we got to talking.
G and Bert were really good at English. Better than any Greek I had met. Which is another reason I would like them better than anyone else. Over the course of the week I would learn almost everything about them.
G was 40, but I had assumed she was in her late 20s. She was short with dark skin and short glossy black hair that was always in a ponytail. And she always wore T shirts and plaid shorts. Bert was 28 and skinny. I had actually thought he was very cute upon first meeting him. Apparently the lived in the same town in the Phillipines but really never talked to each other. G was one of the older single women and one day she got a text from Bert that said, "I heard you are still single. You seem great. Go out with me?"
She didn't even know ho it was from, but texted him back and they started dating. They had been married for 6 years and had a 2 year-ol son named Jean. He was back in the Phillipines living with G's sister. She had a lot of pictures of him on her phone and talked about how much she missed him.
She had come to Greece to find a housekeeping job. I guess there are a lot of Filipino people who go to Greece for work. Bert had followed later. She had been cleaning houses for years and ha had some very goos and very bad experiences.
Apparently the hardest thing was finding someone who would take both her and her husband, because most people only wanted her.
And she had been taking all the moneey she made and sending it back home to friends and family all these years. She tried to explain that that was why she was still so poor, "Jill. You are young. Save. You must save your money." She would give me a lot of good advice.
She had actually had a teaching degree in English back in the Phillipines, but there had been no jobs available. SO here she as. She also spoke Greek very well. Bert spoke none, but she had tried to explain that she learned it because at one of the first houses she stayed at she had watched soap operas in Greek and ha just taken to it.
The Greek people like to say as soon as they learn you know no Greek,"Ah! Greek is the hardest language in the world to learn. Very hard!"
I hadn't thought much of it since I tended to pick up languages pretty well when I lived in them. Arabic had come naturally to me while I was in Egypt. But along with my body reacting badly, my brain was also having none of it. By the time I left, even though no one there speaks English, I would only have about 4 words in Greek.
I Don't Have House Shoes
Anyways, I was forced to play with DC. I mostly followed him around and tried to play with him, and he would usually scream, then ignore me. At this point in time, I still had hopes for him, so I was trying to disciplne him, and tell him no when he did things I thought were inappropriate.
After about an hour of this his mom showed up. They were going to the beach, but since I still had no bathing suit, or really anything other than a skirt, I was excused from this. Mrs. Crazy seemed sorry for me that I couldn't go, but I was ecstatic- a break from the kids and I didn't have to go to the beach. Here's the thing, I do like the beach-at night. And I'm obsessed with the water, which I'll get to later. But, going in the middle of the day, when the sun is beating down on you, yech. You get all hot and gross, and sit and play around in sand, and you smell like sunscreen, and then you get out of the water and you feel all gross and sit in the hot evil sun some more, I hate the beach. I don't understand how it appeals to anyone. I've heard many girls my age say they like to nap there. I think that's stupid, I can't nap when I'm burning hot and can feel my skin sizzling. If I'm going to nap, I'd much rather be in a cold air-conditioned dark room. This just seems logical to me.
So I was left behind with G and Bert. G had already been the nicest person to me. And yesterday, all I had had were my nice flats that had caused the evil blisters, so I just happily went barefoot everywhere. But this apparently really stressed G out, because she kept asking where my house shoes are. I assumed she meant slippers, and after the third time I just kind of shrugged, she kicked off her own flip flops and said, "You have no shoes like this?"
"Oh!! Flip flops! I have, I have. They are in my suitcase. Not here yet."
She seemed relieved to know I actually own a pair of shoes, but this didn't solve the problem. She kicked off her own shoes."How big is your foot? You borrow mine til yours come."
I tried to insist it wasn't a big deal, but it seemed to bother her so much I finally relented. I put hers on but they were nice clunky ones, "No, no. Too small. Wait." She came back with a pair of worn in black rubber flip flops and my heart felt happy. They fit me well, and would become my house shoes until my own were returned.
After about an hour of this his mom showed up. They were going to the beach, but since I still had no bathing suit, or really anything other than a skirt, I was excused from this. Mrs. Crazy seemed sorry for me that I couldn't go, but I was ecstatic- a break from the kids and I didn't have to go to the beach. Here's the thing, I do like the beach-at night. And I'm obsessed with the water, which I'll get to later. But, going in the middle of the day, when the sun is beating down on you, yech. You get all hot and gross, and sit and play around in sand, and you smell like sunscreen, and then you get out of the water and you feel all gross and sit in the hot evil sun some more, I hate the beach. I don't understand how it appeals to anyone. I've heard many girls my age say they like to nap there. I think that's stupid, I can't nap when I'm burning hot and can feel my skin sizzling. If I'm going to nap, I'd much rather be in a cold air-conditioned dark room. This just seems logical to me.
So I was left behind with G and Bert. G had already been the nicest person to me. And yesterday, all I had had were my nice flats that had caused the evil blisters, so I just happily went barefoot everywhere. But this apparently really stressed G out, because she kept asking where my house shoes are. I assumed she meant slippers, and after the third time I just kind of shrugged, she kicked off her own flip flops and said, "You have no shoes like this?"
"Oh!! Flip flops! I have, I have. They are in my suitcase. Not here yet."
She seemed relieved to know I actually own a pair of shoes, but this didn't solve the problem. She kicked off her own shoes."How big is your foot? You borrow mine til yours come."
I tried to insist it wasn't a big deal, but it seemed to bother her so much I finally relented. I put hers on but they were nice clunky ones, "No, no. Too small. Wait." She came back with a pair of worn in black rubber flip flops and my heart felt happy. They fit me well, and would become my house shoes until my own were returned.
Friday, October 22, 2010
All the Red Flags
The parents still hadn't actually given me any clear instructions. Or told me anything for that matter. So when I couldn't look busy with the older kids I assume I was supposed to watch after DC. This was complicated by the fact that he hated me. Mrs. Crazy had explained it on the car ride from the airport that there had been a lot of recent turnover and he was having trouble adjusting to new people. But apparently he had taken quite a liking to G since she had gotten here. This didn't faze me at all. I'm like the kid whisperer. Like I said, I'm pretty good with kids, and I figured with a little of my awesomeness and some perseverance, by the end of the week I'd be fine. I was so naive.
A couple of weeks later during a particularly angry showdown between myself and Dc, Mr. Crazy would try and explain that DC always yells in Greek that he is all alone and everybody leaves him. That he is just acting out in rage a lot of abandonment issues. That should be a red flag to most parents. It was not to the Crazies. All I know is that that explanation should have invoked sympathy in even a cold-hearted person, but by the time we get there, hopefully you'll understand how that did not move me in the least.
To explain the overturn, later in the week, after G and I became good friends she shared her information with me. See, the summer resort they stay at is made up of about a dozen families who come there every summer. Really rich Greek families who each usually have a Filipino housekeeper, and occasionally a Filipino nanny. This would explain how I would become the trophy and novelty that I become, it's not normal for Americans to do this. So, each family has their help who tend to stay with them for up to 5 years or so. And G was out talking with the other Filipino housekeepers at the resort and they tell her that apparently the Crazy family has new help each month. Sometimes each week.
When G finally tells me this my heart drops into my stomach. This is a very red flag.
Speaking of red flags, another peculiar thing started as soon as I got there-nosebleeds. I have had very few nosebleeds in my life, usually caused by getting hit in the nose. But the day after I got there, for some reason my nose bled constantly, like the gross kind where you end up having blood run down your face. It was unexplainable, and for someone who is a firm believer in universal signs, the fact that my nose was constantly bleeding, and would continue to for up to a week, it was already quite obvious to my body that I mad have made a big mistake.
A couple of weeks later during a particularly angry showdown between myself and Dc, Mr. Crazy would try and explain that DC always yells in Greek that he is all alone and everybody leaves him. That he is just acting out in rage a lot of abandonment issues. That should be a red flag to most parents. It was not to the Crazies. All I know is that that explanation should have invoked sympathy in even a cold-hearted person, but by the time we get there, hopefully you'll understand how that did not move me in the least.
To explain the overturn, later in the week, after G and I became good friends she shared her information with me. See, the summer resort they stay at is made up of about a dozen families who come there every summer. Really rich Greek families who each usually have a Filipino housekeeper, and occasionally a Filipino nanny. This would explain how I would become the trophy and novelty that I become, it's not normal for Americans to do this. So, each family has their help who tend to stay with them for up to 5 years or so. And G was out talking with the other Filipino housekeepers at the resort and they tell her that apparently the Crazy family has new help each month. Sometimes each week.
When G finally tells me this my heart drops into my stomach. This is a very red flag.
Speaking of red flags, another peculiar thing started as soon as I got there-nosebleeds. I have had very few nosebleeds in my life, usually caused by getting hit in the nose. But the day after I got there, for some reason my nose bled constantly, like the gross kind where you end up having blood run down your face. It was unexplainable, and for someone who is a firm believer in universal signs, the fact that my nose was constantly bleeding, and would continue to for up to a week, it was already quite obvious to my body that I mad have made a big mistake.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
My Apologies
I know I'm supposed to write the next chapter, but I'm sick and pretty sleepy after gettng woken up repeatedly the last two nights by dreams that Russian spies are chasing me. (No, seriously. Someone psychoanalyze that for me.) Anyways, I promise to return tomorrow with the next chapter including my throwdown with DC, the story of G and Bert the housekeeping couple, and the return of my (now disabled) luggage.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Greek Morning
I was so exhausted I managed to fall asleep relatively quickly and sleep through the night. I woke up to my alarm, which I had set for 8. Mr. Crazy had told me to come over anytime between 8 and 9:30, so I figured I would shoot for 8:30. I got up and got ready, putting on the same gross skirt and shirt I had been wearing for the past two days. At 8:30 I headed over to their summer house...and saw that all the doors were closed and all the blinds pulled shut.
So, I went back to my room and played the Sims, coming out to check to see if the doors were open in 10 minute intervals. Finally, at 9:15, the doors were opened and I went into the kitchen. G, was already in there working. She was already the nicest person to me and sat me down at the kitchen table. She made me some coffee and offered me some cake. I finished the cake quickly, and nursed the coffee which was scalding hot. And burnt my tongue. The kids woke up about a half an hour later and stumbled downstairs to plop on the couch and turn on the TV while G brought them their breakfast.
They spent about two hours watching Disney XD and I watched from the kitchen table with my coffee. All the shows were in Greek, but they were still kind of funny and they gave me something to distract me.
Eventually Mrs. Crazy came down and started yelling at the kids in Greek. This is something that would become commonplace, she would get mad at all of us, but yell at the kids in Greek. So I never actually knew what we were in trouble for, and I was of little use trying to get the kids to do whatever she wanted because I never knew what that was.
Eventually I gathered she wanted them to stop watching TV and play with me because The Boy brought UNO cards over and him and The Girl both sat down next to me.
We ended up playing UNO for about two hours, I guess because we knew we were supposed to, and they seemed rather apathetic to the whole process.
Eventually about 3 of their friends wander over, and they drop me as fast as they can. Which leaves me to play with Demon Child.
So, I went back to my room and played the Sims, coming out to check to see if the doors were open in 10 minute intervals. Finally, at 9:15, the doors were opened and I went into the kitchen. G, was already in there working. She was already the nicest person to me and sat me down at the kitchen table. She made me some coffee and offered me some cake. I finished the cake quickly, and nursed the coffee which was scalding hot. And burnt my tongue. The kids woke up about a half an hour later and stumbled downstairs to plop on the couch and turn on the TV while G brought them their breakfast.
They spent about two hours watching Disney XD and I watched from the kitchen table with my coffee. All the shows were in Greek, but they were still kind of funny and they gave me something to distract me.
Eventually Mrs. Crazy came down and started yelling at the kids in Greek. This is something that would become commonplace, she would get mad at all of us, but yell at the kids in Greek. So I never actually knew what we were in trouble for, and I was of little use trying to get the kids to do whatever she wanted because I never knew what that was.
Eventually I gathered she wanted them to stop watching TV and play with me because The Boy brought UNO cards over and him and The Girl both sat down next to me.
We ended up playing UNO for about two hours, I guess because we knew we were supposed to, and they seemed rather apathetic to the whole process.
Eventually about 3 of their friends wander over, and they drop me as fast as they can. Which leaves me to play with Demon Child.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Crunchy Fish Eyes
I stood there slightly incredulous. So, Mr. crazy had told me to tell him no. Then let him do what he wanted anyway. I should have been alarmed, but I still hadn't slept in over 24 hours, so I managed to just shrug it off.
By this time there were at least 5 adult couples and 10 kids running around their house. It was 10 pm and dinner seemed to be about ready.
I must have looked pretty bad. I was still wearing a gross skirt and shirt from earlier. I slumped onto a stool and waited to be told what to do.
Mr. Crazy came over. Mr. Crazy looks like, ugh, he looks like someone but i forgot. Well, really he looks like a cartoon of a Greek father. Black and gray hair and beard, and a pretty prominent belly that is rarely covered by a shirt. He's also very animated, talking loudly to eveyone. And he seemed rather nice and caring and in control. This was all my first impression.
Mr. Crazy must have realized that I looked dead because he came running over, flailing and yelling at me, "Oh, you must be so tired! You eat! Eat something! And then go rest!"
I stared blankly at him, then at the food, then back at him, unsure of what I was allowed to do.
"Here! You come eat!"
He grabbed a bowl and shoveled something into it, topping it with lettuce and cucumbers before shoving it into my hands. I stared down at it and saw a bunch of tiny fried fish. Fish the size of my pinky complete with tails and mouths and eyeballs staring at me, covered by a thin coating of fried oil.
G, the housekeeper, who had tried to be as helpful as she could since I got there was flitting aroun nearby.
I sidled up right next to her and whispered, "Am I just supposed to eat the whole thing?"
She looked at me, and laughed, but in a good way, "Yes, you eat the whole thing."
So I sat back on the stool, and shut my eyes and began shoveling in the tiny fish. It wasn't that they were bad, they tasted like fried fish, it was that they crunched in your mouth and you could tell you were biting down on tail, or chewing the fish body in half or yick. I also shoved as many pieces of lettuce, one of my least favorite vegetables, in before I discreetly made my way to the garbage can to get rid of any leftover evidence.
I grabbed Mr. Crazy as he ran through the kitchen, "Would it be alright if I went to bed now?"
"Yes, yes of course."
"And tomorrow morning, is there a certain time I should be here?"
"I think maybe 8? 8:30 or 9. Anytime you wish."
And he was gone. There was a pretty substantial gap of time between 8 and 9. And the time I wished would probably be closer to noon. But I grabbed the key to my little bungalow from the box they insisted I keep it in their house, I guess in case they wanted to go over and check on things, and went to my house.
I want to take another shower before I go to sleep, but I realize that I have no idea where the light switch is. Or how to flush the toilet. After hunting for a light switch for about 10 minutes, I give up and take a shower in the dark.
Then I go back to my room, take a melatonin, and try to sleep.
By this time there were at least 5 adult couples and 10 kids running around their house. It was 10 pm and dinner seemed to be about ready.
I must have looked pretty bad. I was still wearing a gross skirt and shirt from earlier. I slumped onto a stool and waited to be told what to do.
Mr. Crazy came over. Mr. Crazy looks like, ugh, he looks like someone but i forgot. Well, really he looks like a cartoon of a Greek father. Black and gray hair and beard, and a pretty prominent belly that is rarely covered by a shirt. He's also very animated, talking loudly to eveyone. And he seemed rather nice and caring and in control. This was all my first impression.
Mr. Crazy must have realized that I looked dead because he came running over, flailing and yelling at me, "Oh, you must be so tired! You eat! Eat something! And then go rest!"
I stared blankly at him, then at the food, then back at him, unsure of what I was allowed to do.
"Here! You come eat!"
He grabbed a bowl and shoveled something into it, topping it with lettuce and cucumbers before shoving it into my hands. I stared down at it and saw a bunch of tiny fried fish. Fish the size of my pinky complete with tails and mouths and eyeballs staring at me, covered by a thin coating of fried oil.
G, the housekeeper, who had tried to be as helpful as she could since I got there was flitting aroun nearby.
I sidled up right next to her and whispered, "Am I just supposed to eat the whole thing?"
She looked at me, and laughed, but in a good way, "Yes, you eat the whole thing."
So I sat back on the stool, and shut my eyes and began shoveling in the tiny fish. It wasn't that they were bad, they tasted like fried fish, it was that they crunched in your mouth and you could tell you were biting down on tail, or chewing the fish body in half or yick. I also shoved as many pieces of lettuce, one of my least favorite vegetables, in before I discreetly made my way to the garbage can to get rid of any leftover evidence.
I grabbed Mr. Crazy as he ran through the kitchen, "Would it be alright if I went to bed now?"
"Yes, yes of course."
"And tomorrow morning, is there a certain time I should be here?"
"I think maybe 8? 8:30 or 9. Anytime you wish."
And he was gone. There was a pretty substantial gap of time between 8 and 9. And the time I wished would probably be closer to noon. But I grabbed the key to my little bungalow from the box they insisted I keep it in their house, I guess in case they wanted to go over and check on things, and went to my house.
I want to take another shower before I go to sleep, but I realize that I have no idea where the light switch is. Or how to flush the toilet. After hunting for a light switch for about 10 minutes, I give up and take a shower in the dark.
Then I go back to my room, take a melatonin, and try to sleep.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Let the Games Begin
I laid there and played the Sims on my computer for a couple of hours. I wasn't really sure what else to do. I tried to read a magazine but I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had only brought one book and that was in my suitcase along with, well everything else. I get up once and walk back over to their house. All the doors are closed and every blind is shut, so I walk back to my little house and watch videos of my neice on my computer.
A couple hours later I emerge again and Mrs. Crazy is outside talking to Mr. Crazy. Mr. Crazy is very worried about me and tries to get me to rest some more, but I assure him I'm fine and take over watching DC who is outside playing with a truck. Now DC is 3. And he has one pacifier in his mouth and a little plastic baggy with about 6 more pcifiers in it. He also wears a diaper and they've apparently made no attempts to potty train him. And he doesn't understand any English. So I follow him around and try to talk to him. I hand him things and help him when I can. It all seems pretty easy for the time being. We eventually wander inside and his true colors start to come out. He sits down to play with a truck so I sit down next to him and grab a truck and try to play with him.
I would like to make a sidebar to say that I am awesome with kids. They come pretty naturally to me because I still think like one most of the time. And I tend to be a little more on the firm side, but I've watched enough Supernanny to feel pretty confident in my abilities. I've taken care of my neice and nephew for days at a time and they love me. I will make a ridiculously awesome mother someday. Kids love me.
Now, back to playing with DC. I sit and grab a truck and play with him. So he grabs my truck and sets it next to him. I find another toy to play with and he takes that too.
No problem, I reach over to play with him and he takes his truck and throws it at me. Hard. I'm a little stunned, but this isn't a huge deal. I tell him no firmly and figure with some time I'll whip the kid into shape. It should also be noted at this point in time that the parents haven't actually given me any instructions about the kids. They actually haven't told me anything. Or talked to me at all for that matter. But then comes mine and DC's first confrontation which will set the tone for the war that is about to begin.
Random adults begin wandering over, and from the housekeeper's preparations, it's obvious we're throwing some sort of dinner party. DC runs toward one screen door and tries to go out. I gently stop him, "No, let's stay inside." And try and lead him ove to some other toys to play with. He screams and runs to the door again, and I repeat this two more times. Mr. Crazy sees this and tells me, "Very good. Tell him no when he needs it. You must be firm with the children."
Awesome, I think. I am respected as a disciplinarian. I will turn this tiny child into a wonderful human by the time I leave.
DC runs for the door again, and me, in my infinite patience again say no and try and lead him to his toys.
Mr. Crazy grabs DC's hand and leads him outside, "Oh let him go out. It is fine."
A couple hours later I emerge again and Mrs. Crazy is outside talking to Mr. Crazy. Mr. Crazy is very worried about me and tries to get me to rest some more, but I assure him I'm fine and take over watching DC who is outside playing with a truck. Now DC is 3. And he has one pacifier in his mouth and a little plastic baggy with about 6 more pcifiers in it. He also wears a diaper and they've apparently made no attempts to potty train him. And he doesn't understand any English. So I follow him around and try to talk to him. I hand him things and help him when I can. It all seems pretty easy for the time being. We eventually wander inside and his true colors start to come out. He sits down to play with a truck so I sit down next to him and grab a truck and try to play with him.
I would like to make a sidebar to say that I am awesome with kids. They come pretty naturally to me because I still think like one most of the time. And I tend to be a little more on the firm side, but I've watched enough Supernanny to feel pretty confident in my abilities. I've taken care of my neice and nephew for days at a time and they love me. I will make a ridiculously awesome mother someday. Kids love me.
Now, back to playing with DC. I sit and grab a truck and play with him. So he grabs my truck and sets it next to him. I find another toy to play with and he takes that too.
No problem, I reach over to play with him and he takes his truck and throws it at me. Hard. I'm a little stunned, but this isn't a huge deal. I tell him no firmly and figure with some time I'll whip the kid into shape. It should also be noted at this point in time that the parents haven't actually given me any instructions about the kids. They actually haven't told me anything. Or talked to me at all for that matter. But then comes mine and DC's first confrontation which will set the tone for the war that is about to begin.
Random adults begin wandering over, and from the housekeeper's preparations, it's obvious we're throwing some sort of dinner party. DC runs toward one screen door and tries to go out. I gently stop him, "No, let's stay inside." And try and lead him ove to some other toys to play with. He screams and runs to the door again, and I repeat this two more times. Mr. Crazy sees this and tells me, "Very good. Tell him no when he needs it. You must be firm with the children."
Awesome, I think. I am respected as a disciplinarian. I will turn this tiny child into a wonderful human by the time I leave.
DC runs for the door again, and me, in my infinite patience again say no and try and lead him to his toys.
Mr. Crazy grabs DC's hand and leads him outside, "Oh let him go out. It is fine."
Sunday, October 17, 2010
My Home, My Prison
I was starving. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. Maybe breakfast in first class? Or was it dinner? All my perfectly planned out water and snack stops had been killed by the changing and the running and the crazy. I had been up to over 24 hours and I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. Mrs. Crazy sat me down at the dining room table and set a plate down in front of me. There was a slab of lamb, and what appeared to be two very large peppers with their insides gushing out. I did what would become routine and mixed it all together, closed my eyes, and started shoveling it into my mouth. As soon as I had put away as much as I could she must have seen the dead look in my eyes because she told me I should go rest. No argument here.
Apparently, originally I was supposed to stay in the laundry room where the housekeeping couple was now staying. But they had just recently acquired the couple and so I was moved to the couch. But, lucky me, their friends were gone to the city, so for a precious few days, I could stay in their place. We went to the summer house right next door,"Here is the key. Do not go up the stairs. There is alarm. You stay here. There are sheets." And then she left. It looked like there house and I was relegated to the tiny room of the main area. There was some sort of couch in the corner that I could turn in to a bed with a pile of sheets. There was a bedside table with three controllers and an unplugged television in one corner. I went on and made my bed, knowing that was the most energy I would have all day.
I sighed and slumped onto the bed. It was 4 Greek time, so it was 9am home time. If I could stay up until bed tonight then it would extremely help with my jet lag.
So the next logical thing to do would be to take a shower. I looked at the floor where my suitcase should be and tried to figure out what I had. I was wearing a black skirt and nice shirt. I had aa tee shirt and sweatpants rolled up in my bag. I had no soap, no towels and I was scared to touch anything that wasn't mine. Hmmmm. So I took a shower without soap and toweled off with my sweatpants. It was hot. Really hot. And there was no air conditioning. I just wanted lay there in my underwear and go to sleep. But something told me the Crazy family aren't the type to knock so I pulled my gross clothes back on and laid down to play the Sims.
Apparently, originally I was supposed to stay in the laundry room where the housekeeping couple was now staying. But they had just recently acquired the couple and so I was moved to the couch. But, lucky me, their friends were gone to the city, so for a precious few days, I could stay in their place. We went to the summer house right next door,"Here is the key. Do not go up the stairs. There is alarm. You stay here. There are sheets." And then she left. It looked like there house and I was relegated to the tiny room of the main area. There was some sort of couch in the corner that I could turn in to a bed with a pile of sheets. There was a bedside table with three controllers and an unplugged television in one corner. I went on and made my bed, knowing that was the most energy I would have all day.
I sighed and slumped onto the bed. It was 4 Greek time, so it was 9am home time. If I could stay up until bed tonight then it would extremely help with my jet lag.
So the next logical thing to do would be to take a shower. I looked at the floor where my suitcase should be and tried to figure out what I had. I was wearing a black skirt and nice shirt. I had aa tee shirt and sweatpants rolled up in my bag. I had no soap, no towels and I was scared to touch anything that wasn't mine. Hmmmm. So I took a shower without soap and toweled off with my sweatpants. It was hot. Really hot. And there was no air conditioning. I just wanted lay there in my underwear and go to sleep. But something told me the Crazy family aren't the type to knock so I pulled my gross clothes back on and laid down to play the Sims.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Introductions
It was nice. Not super impressive, but nice. There were two bedrooms upstairs, one for the parents and one for the three kids. There was a bathroom upstairs and one downstairs. And downstairs was just kind o a medium sized open area. There was a room to one side where the housekeeper and her husband stayed (and all the laundry was done), but other that that the kitchen opened to a table and then a step down just had a wall of toys and a couch in front of a nice sized TV. There were a bunch of toys an board games and books, and little shell dcorations everywhere. The floor was a gray marble and it was all rather small. But there on the couch were three kids-The Boy who was 12ish and had dark hair and big dark eyes and olive skin just like his sister. Next to him was another boy his age with lighter skin and sun bleached shaggy hair. And next to them was a little 3 year-old boy with light longish hair and lighter skin, pacifier in his mouth. And he, for reasons soon discovered, became know to me as demon child. In fact, I thought his real name was something completely different than it actually was for the first week I was there. But in my head he was DC.
Their sister joined them on the couch and I slumped into a chair nearby, noticing with some relief that they were watching Wizards of Waverly Place in Greek.
Mrs. Crazy had em sit down at the table to eat something which was served to me by the housekeeper. Now, I feel ridiculous giving everyone new names, but I intend to be fully honest in my accounts, and for reasons that again shall soon become clear, I need to be in no way able to be held culpable for any type of slander. So, the easiest way seems to be to use no real names.
The housekeeper-G, was a 40 year-old Fillipino woman. She had dark skin, but a different brown than the Greeks, and short black shiny hair which was always in a ponytail. I would later find out that her and her husband Bert both had started working for the Crazy family about 2 weeks before I showed up. G did all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and took care of DC. Bert was 28 did anything Mr. Crazy asked him, including all outdoors and manual labor. They were about to become my best friends.
Their sister joined them on the couch and I slumped into a chair nearby, noticing with some relief that they were watching Wizards of Waverly Place in Greek.
Mrs. Crazy had em sit down at the table to eat something which was served to me by the housekeeper. Now, I feel ridiculous giving everyone new names, but I intend to be fully honest in my accounts, and for reasons that again shall soon become clear, I need to be in no way able to be held culpable for any type of slander. So, the easiest way seems to be to use no real names.
The housekeeper-G, was a 40 year-old Fillipino woman. She had dark skin, but a different brown than the Greeks, and short black shiny hair which was always in a ponytail. I would later find out that her and her husband Bert both had started working for the Crazy family about 2 weeks before I showed up. G did all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and took care of DC. Bert was 28 did anything Mr. Crazy asked him, including all outdoors and manual labor. They were about to become my best friends.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
My Luggage Had the Right Idea
So, the shuttle let's us off at what I'm going to assume is an airport. At this point in time it looks a lot like Egypt. I get to the bathroom and wait in line with about 20 people so I can change my clothes. I don't know how celebrities do it, but I cannot make it off an airplane without looking like death threw up all over me. And I want to make a good impression on my Greek family, so I change into nice clothes and head toward baggage. At this point in time I'm three hours later than I told the family and I don't even know if they're still there.
As I wait for my bag, which I've learned to assume is not going to show up, I'm already getting blisters on my feet from "nice" shoes- ie not chucks. After another hour of waiting for my luggage the inevitable has happened- it was smart and decided to stay in Kentucky.
I go and stand in line to talk to someone about finding my luggage for about a half an hour before a very mean Greek woman tries to help me. Apparently she needs all my boarding passes, which after my adventures today total to at least 4. I find three of these, except for the one she needs, and dig desperately through my purse and bag while the 10 people in line behind me become visibly irritated.
She finally gives up on me, heck, I've given up on me by this point in time, and I identify my luggage which she says was indeed left behind in Lexington, Kentucky.
I fill out a form, which quickly becomes an issue because I don't know the address or any of the information of the people I'm staying with. I realize again how stupid this is, and she makes sure I realize how stupid this is, and I leave promising that someone will call them that night with an address.
I finally head out towards the door, going through in my head what my options are if there's no one waiting for me. These options amount to using all my money (100 USD) to find a hotel to stay at. Or...well, there weren't really many other options.
I walked through the sliding doors not exactly sure what I'm looking for. I don't know who from the family was coming to pick me up, if I'm looking for a sign with my name, if they're international human traffickers and I'll have to run. And then a tiny blonde woman with a dark haired girl nods in my direction and smiles.
Relief flooded through me as I realized that I actually had a way of leaving the airport. She introduced herself as what shall now be know as Mrs. Crazy and her daughter The Girl. Mrs. Crazy was small and very thin with short bleached blonde hair. And The Girl was about 7 and absolutely gorgeous. Dark olive skin, big dark eyes, and long black hair. She lead me out to the car as I try to explain how I'm almost 5 hours late and still don't have my luggage.
We finally make it to her little silver car and neither of us talk as she drives through the city and starts down the Mediterranean coast. It looks a lot like I imagined it, the city parts look just like Russia and Egypt. But the ocean's beautiful. I love water and I can't stop falling in love with the giants cliffs and deep blue ocean. I'm thankful she's not talking too much, because by this point in time I've been up for over 24 hours, I'm mentally exhausted, and my feet are starting to bleed from the blisters from my shoes.
We pull up to some sort of summer community and she instructs me to leave my bag at a neighboring door and takes me into their summer home.
As I wait for my bag, which I've learned to assume is not going to show up, I'm already getting blisters on my feet from "nice" shoes- ie not chucks. After another hour of waiting for my luggage the inevitable has happened- it was smart and decided to stay in Kentucky.
I go and stand in line to talk to someone about finding my luggage for about a half an hour before a very mean Greek woman tries to help me. Apparently she needs all my boarding passes, which after my adventures today total to at least 4. I find three of these, except for the one she needs, and dig desperately through my purse and bag while the 10 people in line behind me become visibly irritated.
She finally gives up on me, heck, I've given up on me by this point in time, and I identify my luggage which she says was indeed left behind in Lexington, Kentucky.
I fill out a form, which quickly becomes an issue because I don't know the address or any of the information of the people I'm staying with. I realize again how stupid this is, and she makes sure I realize how stupid this is, and I leave promising that someone will call them that night with an address.
I finally head out towards the door, going through in my head what my options are if there's no one waiting for me. These options amount to using all my money (100 USD) to find a hotel to stay at. Or...well, there weren't really many other options.
I walked through the sliding doors not exactly sure what I'm looking for. I don't know who from the family was coming to pick me up, if I'm looking for a sign with my name, if they're international human traffickers and I'll have to run. And then a tiny blonde woman with a dark haired girl nods in my direction and smiles.
Relief flooded through me as I realized that I actually had a way of leaving the airport. She introduced herself as what shall now be know as Mrs. Crazy and her daughter The Girl. Mrs. Crazy was small and very thin with short bleached blonde hair. And The Girl was about 7 and absolutely gorgeous. Dark olive skin, big dark eyes, and long black hair. She lead me out to the car as I try to explain how I'm almost 5 hours late and still don't have my luggage.
We finally make it to her little silver car and neither of us talk as she drives through the city and starts down the Mediterranean coast. It looks a lot like I imagined it, the city parts look just like Russia and Egypt. But the ocean's beautiful. I love water and I can't stop falling in love with the giants cliffs and deep blue ocean. I'm thankful she's not talking too much, because by this point in time I've been up for over 24 hours, I'm mentally exhausted, and my feet are starting to bleed from the blisters from my shoes.
We pull up to some sort of summer community and she instructs me to leave my bag at a neighboring door and takes me into their summer home.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The Last Airport Chapter or How I Ignored the Universe's Signs
So, I'm pretty new at this whole blog thing. And like I said I kind of hate it. But I would appreciate any feedback on what exactly people want. I'll just keep telling random stories and you can tell me, "Stop with the airplanes, Jill. When are you gonna get to the fun stuff like getting dropped off in the middle of the city by yourself?" And I can say soon.
So, the last chapter of the airplane story, as promised. The plane is getting ready to touch down in Amsterdam. My flight to Athens has already started boarding. Actually, it's almost finished boarding. I've gone through every scenario in my head. And the one I'm most excited about is finding a ticket agent and getting right back on a flight to Kentucky. I can't do it anymore. I can't take another delay, I can't get rerouted, and the family was supposed to meet me at the airport at 10:30, I was already set to arrive there at least 3 hours late without any way of contacting them. And what would happen if they assumed I wasn't coming and left? I didn't have any money. I didn't know anyone. Or any Greek. Yeah, I get myself into some stupid situations.
So the plane landed in Amsterdam, and the very nice lady who I had been sitting next to was extremely concerned for me. She was going to a business convention in Switzerland, but had given herself the day to stop off in Amsterdam and see the sights. And worst case scenario I figured I could join her for the day and try to enjoy myself a little. Heck, I may be living here if there's no way to get back. How bad could Amsterdam be?
I had given up running through the airport, I figured at this point in time all hope was lost and we found the nearest information desk. A nice blonde women listened as I explained my plane as boarding and I wasn't really sure what to do. I must have seemed a little too calm, accepting of my fate, because she started freaking out, "Run!!!! You must run!!!!"
"What? I can still make it?!" (Crap)
"Yes!!! But you must run!! The fast line! Go into the fast line at the left!!!"
So, I was still going to Greece apparently. And I wasn't too thrilled. i quickly said goodbye to my friend and took off for the left fast line through customs.
This so-called fast line was barely moving any faster. And after waiting for 15 minutes, I noticed a little game everyone was playing. As an attendant walked by you shoved your boarding pass in the air and screamed what time you were supposed to be boarding.
I was still hoping God would pull through on our bargain and that plane would be long gone. But I had to try, so I shoved my boarding pass in the air and started screaming, "9:30!!"
The woman grabbed me and a few other people and dragged us to the front of the line.
I went through security, and then took off running through the Amsterdam airport, a giant bag slung over my shoulders.
15 minutes later I arrived at the gate sweating and wheezing, and the agent took my pass, "Oh, we are almost departing."
Well thank you. I had been sauntering through the airport thinking I had plenty of time.
So I sat down on the tiny plane in what was apparently Amsterdamian first class. Which meant the flight attendant pulled a curtain closed behind our row and offered us chocolates from a box. To each his own I guess.
I spent the three hour flight staring out the window, and wondering how this could end well. I'm a big believer in the universe giving you signs. And the past 24 hours had been filled with big neon ones screaming, "DO NOT GO TO GREECE!!"
But here I was, grabbing my bags, and getting on the shuttle that would take me to the Athens airport. I wasn't sure if there would be anyone there to pick me up. I was pretty sure my luggage wouldn't be there to greet me. I was just trying to come up with some sort of plan to get back home. This was all wrong.
So, the last chapter of the airplane story, as promised. The plane is getting ready to touch down in Amsterdam. My flight to Athens has already started boarding. Actually, it's almost finished boarding. I've gone through every scenario in my head. And the one I'm most excited about is finding a ticket agent and getting right back on a flight to Kentucky. I can't do it anymore. I can't take another delay, I can't get rerouted, and the family was supposed to meet me at the airport at 10:30, I was already set to arrive there at least 3 hours late without any way of contacting them. And what would happen if they assumed I wasn't coming and left? I didn't have any money. I didn't know anyone. Or any Greek. Yeah, I get myself into some stupid situations.
So the plane landed in Amsterdam, and the very nice lady who I had been sitting next to was extremely concerned for me. She was going to a business convention in Switzerland, but had given herself the day to stop off in Amsterdam and see the sights. And worst case scenario I figured I could join her for the day and try to enjoy myself a little. Heck, I may be living here if there's no way to get back. How bad could Amsterdam be?
I had given up running through the airport, I figured at this point in time all hope was lost and we found the nearest information desk. A nice blonde women listened as I explained my plane as boarding and I wasn't really sure what to do. I must have seemed a little too calm, accepting of my fate, because she started freaking out, "Run!!!! You must run!!!!"
"What? I can still make it?!" (Crap)
"Yes!!! But you must run!! The fast line! Go into the fast line at the left!!!"
So, I was still going to Greece apparently. And I wasn't too thrilled. i quickly said goodbye to my friend and took off for the left fast line through customs.
This so-called fast line was barely moving any faster. And after waiting for 15 minutes, I noticed a little game everyone was playing. As an attendant walked by you shoved your boarding pass in the air and screamed what time you were supposed to be boarding.
I was still hoping God would pull through on our bargain and that plane would be long gone. But I had to try, so I shoved my boarding pass in the air and started screaming, "9:30!!"
The woman grabbed me and a few other people and dragged us to the front of the line.
I went through security, and then took off running through the Amsterdam airport, a giant bag slung over my shoulders.
15 minutes later I arrived at the gate sweating and wheezing, and the agent took my pass, "Oh, we are almost departing."
Well thank you. I had been sauntering through the airport thinking I had plenty of time.
So I sat down on the tiny plane in what was apparently Amsterdamian first class. Which meant the flight attendant pulled a curtain closed behind our row and offered us chocolates from a box. To each his own I guess.
I spent the three hour flight staring out the window, and wondering how this could end well. I'm a big believer in the universe giving you signs. And the past 24 hours had been filled with big neon ones screaming, "DO NOT GO TO GREECE!!"
But here I was, grabbing my bags, and getting on the shuttle that would take me to the Athens airport. I wasn't sure if there would be anyone there to pick me up. I was pretty sure my luggage wouldn't be there to greet me. I was just trying to come up with some sort of plan to get back home. This was all wrong.
Airport Cont. or I Should Start Listening to the Universe
I promise this will get more interesting real soon. But there's all this backstory and blah blah blah I have to lay down for the events of Greece to make sense.
So I got on my flight to Detroit, and the one beautiful happiness of the evil itinerary change, that apparenty the only seat left was in first class. That's right, I had acquired the holy grail of all air travel- first class on an international flight. The thing is though, that first class is pretty snooty. So, I always sit there in my sweatpants and crazy hair and feel like a giant arrow is pointing at me saying "Someone check her ticket, she can't possibly belong here."
But it is wonderful. We sat there waiting to take off, and they brought me orange juice in little champagne glasses, and little bottles of water. And I met the sweetest woman sitting next to me who invited me to come stay with her in San Fransisco.
And then we kept waiting. Apparently there was something wrong with the engine (which always fills my little heart with good thoughts). So we sat there and waited, and they checked the engine, and we waited. And I worried. A lot. I don't know about anyone else, but I hate traveling by myself. It's stressful. So many things can (and do, in my case) go wrong, and you're the only person that can fix it. You have no one to talk things through with or ask their opinion. And to add to the fun of the flight I also have one more little issue with international air travel- my ankles.
The year before I had gone to Russia to teach English. And when the plane touched down in St. Petersberg I tried to put my shoes back on and realized my ankles had swollen to three times their normal size. It was pretty amazing. I took a picture because it looked like my legs had been replaced with tree trunks and I was trying to put down roots in the plane.
Anyways, apparently this can be a pretty serious condition, if you don't get up or drink enough, so I also had that to worry about.
But two hours later we were off, and I could almost stop worrying for a minute because the food was AWESOME in first class (steak, mashed potatoes, caramel cheesecake, etc.) But then everyone settled in to go to sleep, and I obviously not sleeping, began to notice the pain creeping through my legs. At this time, I also realizedd that I was not making my connection in Amsterdam. I would have approximately 5 minutes to make it through customs, through the airport, and to my gate before the plane took off. And I made a deal with God. Because by this point in time I had about had it. Missing two connections, engine problems, etc, I was obviously not supposed to be going to Greece.
All I wanted to do was find a nice ticket agent and have them rebook me on the next flight back to Kentucky because as far as I was concerned, my Greek adventure was over before it had begun.
I should have stuck to that plan. I promise there's only one more chapter to my airport adventures and then on to more exciting fare.
So I got on my flight to Detroit, and the one beautiful happiness of the evil itinerary change, that apparenty the only seat left was in first class. That's right, I had acquired the holy grail of all air travel- first class on an international flight. The thing is though, that first class is pretty snooty. So, I always sit there in my sweatpants and crazy hair and feel like a giant arrow is pointing at me saying "Someone check her ticket, she can't possibly belong here."
But it is wonderful. We sat there waiting to take off, and they brought me orange juice in little champagne glasses, and little bottles of water. And I met the sweetest woman sitting next to me who invited me to come stay with her in San Fransisco.
And then we kept waiting. Apparently there was something wrong with the engine (which always fills my little heart with good thoughts). So we sat there and waited, and they checked the engine, and we waited. And I worried. A lot. I don't know about anyone else, but I hate traveling by myself. It's stressful. So many things can (and do, in my case) go wrong, and you're the only person that can fix it. You have no one to talk things through with or ask their opinion. And to add to the fun of the flight I also have one more little issue with international air travel- my ankles.
The year before I had gone to Russia to teach English. And when the plane touched down in St. Petersberg I tried to put my shoes back on and realized my ankles had swollen to three times their normal size. It was pretty amazing. I took a picture because it looked like my legs had been replaced with tree trunks and I was trying to put down roots in the plane.
Anyways, apparently this can be a pretty serious condition, if you don't get up or drink enough, so I also had that to worry about.
But two hours later we were off, and I could almost stop worrying for a minute because the food was AWESOME in first class (steak, mashed potatoes, caramel cheesecake, etc.) But then everyone settled in to go to sleep, and I obviously not sleeping, began to notice the pain creeping through my legs. At this time, I also realizedd that I was not making my connection in Amsterdam. I would have approximately 5 minutes to make it through customs, through the airport, and to my gate before the plane took off. And I made a deal with God. Because by this point in time I had about had it. Missing two connections, engine problems, etc, I was obviously not supposed to be going to Greece.
All I wanted to do was find a nice ticket agent and have them rebook me on the next flight back to Kentucky because as far as I was concerned, my Greek adventure was over before it had begun.
I should have stuck to that plan. I promise there's only one more chapter to my airport adventures and then on to more exciting fare.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Internet Nannying
Back to my gate. I’m rearranging my bags, getting ready for an hour flight to Atlanta and then a straight shot over to Athens Greece. I’ll get there at 10;30 the next morning. I’ve been rehearsing the whole thing in my head for weeks. Then I notice the long line. Which is always a bad sign. The long line that wasn’t moving. I eavesdropped a little and heard the words I should have assumed “flight delay”. Due to something, no one really ever ended up knowing what, the flight was delayed up to two hours. Which meant my perfectly timed connection in Atlanta, perfect because it was long enough to give me plenty of time to get to my gate but not enough time to have to wait, was ruined.
If you’ve ever been on an international flight you realize the pain that they are. Up to ten hours on the tiny plane, trying to sleep, trying to stay occupied, trying to readjust to the jet lag when you get there. And I cannot sleep on planes. I can’t sleep in real life, some serious insomnia, but especially on planes.
So my perfect itinerary was crushed before it even started. Eventually everything was worked out and I got on a flight to Detroit, which would then take me to Amsterdam, which would then take me to Athens. Getting there three hours later.
Eh, I guess I should backtrack again and explain exactly how I became a nanny in Greece. I met the family through the internet. There was a website that was a bunch of families and you made a profile and the families would email you. And I had a ton of families email me. It felt pretty good, all these people wanting me. But my mom and my best friend had a really good feeling about this Greek family so I decided to go with them. Now I realize the insanity of going to live and work for a family you met through the internet. But I talked to the mother on the phone, and then skyped the family before I left. And everybody just had such good feelings. Oh, my how those feelings would be wrong.
If you’ve ever been on an international flight you realize the pain that they are. Up to ten hours on the tiny plane, trying to sleep, trying to stay occupied, trying to readjust to the jet lag when you get there. And I cannot sleep on planes. I can’t sleep in real life, some serious insomnia, but especially on planes.
So my perfect itinerary was crushed before it even started. Eventually everything was worked out and I got on a flight to Detroit, which would then take me to Amsterdam, which would then take me to Athens. Getting there three hours later.
Eh, I guess I should backtrack again and explain exactly how I became a nanny in Greece. I met the family through the internet. There was a website that was a bunch of families and you made a profile and the families would email you. And I had a ton of families email me. It felt pretty good, all these people wanting me. But my mom and my best friend had a really good feeling about this Greek family so I decided to go with them. Now I realize the insanity of going to live and work for a family you met through the internet. But I talked to the mother on the phone, and then skyped the family before I left. And everybody just had such good feelings. Oh, my how those feelings would be wrong.
The Beginning. Or the Middle of the Beginning
I tend to find myself in crazy situations. And now I was standing there wondering how I had ended up with a demon three year old and a 40 year old Filippino housekeeper, at a summer resort in Greece watching really rich mothers watch the hot tennis instructor teach their children. Yes, I had ended up in some weird Greek Desperate Housewives.
Let’s start at the beginning. Well, not the very beginning, but the beginning of this trip. I never intended to start a blog. Frankly, I’m not very good at it. It sounds like a pain to type up all this junk everyday. But so many weird random things keep happening in my life I kind of need to keep a record. So we’ll start here, where I am, and maybe go backwards sometimes.
I was on my way to Greece. I am a 23 year-old college graduate. I just got done doing a year of AmeriCorps in Alaska, and I thought it sounded like fun. I would go live with a nice family, watch their kids, and in exchange I would get a room, all meals, and live right in the middle of a new fun country. So, I started off this Monday morning leaving my mom and dad at the airport and getting to my gate in plenty of time. You should know before I go on that it has been made abundantly clear to me that I am some sort of airport jinx. I hate the whole deal- I hate airports, they’re big and dumb and you just wait and wait with nothing to do. Then you get on a giant metal object that’s supposed to stay thousands of feet in the air based on science? Am I the only one who questions the sanity of that. I hate security checklines, I hate all the regulations, to me there is nothing fun about air travel. Well, I guess airports are a lot like wolves in that they can smell fear and will attack the weak ones. That’s really the only explanation I can come up with for incredibly unlucky streak at airports.
Let’s start at the beginning. Well, not the very beginning, but the beginning of this trip. I never intended to start a blog. Frankly, I’m not very good at it. It sounds like a pain to type up all this junk everyday. But so many weird random things keep happening in my life I kind of need to keep a record. So we’ll start here, where I am, and maybe go backwards sometimes.
I was on my way to Greece. I am a 23 year-old college graduate. I just got done doing a year of AmeriCorps in Alaska, and I thought it sounded like fun. I would go live with a nice family, watch their kids, and in exchange I would get a room, all meals, and live right in the middle of a new fun country. So, I started off this Monday morning leaving my mom and dad at the airport and getting to my gate in plenty of time. You should know before I go on that it has been made abundantly clear to me that I am some sort of airport jinx. I hate the whole deal- I hate airports, they’re big and dumb and you just wait and wait with nothing to do. Then you get on a giant metal object that’s supposed to stay thousands of feet in the air based on science? Am I the only one who questions the sanity of that. I hate security checklines, I hate all the regulations, to me there is nothing fun about air travel. Well, I guess airports are a lot like wolves in that they can smell fear and will attack the weak ones. That’s really the only explanation I can come up with for incredibly unlucky streak at airports.
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