Do I have a sign on my forehead?

I have made a triumphant return back to the snow, multiple jobs and neglected essays. And I can tell you, it was hardly a graceful one.

The day of my return, I strode to the airline baggage department, picked up my luggage that never had left the airport and had an uneventful flight home in the clothing that I had worn in multiple ways all week. (If the pictures look like I wore the same outfit the whole time, your eyes do not deceive you). But seriously, other than looking like my clothing would stand by itself if I stepped out if it, I had pleasant travels home.

Until I arrived at the airport in London, collected my baggage, paid the parking fee and quickly ran to my car because I had 20 minutes to leave before I needed to pay another day of parking.

I turned the ignition.

Nothing.

I sat for a moment and turned the ignition.

Nothing.

Now, I was on the verge of a stage 5 meltdown because I would miss my French class and blogger training if my car didn’t start which which was the only reason I came home as early as I did.

I darted back inside and found an attendant who found a taxi driver who would help me…but nothing is free, just know that.

The lovely man spoke about 100 english words and I am so mechanically uninclined that I didn’t even know how to open my hood. (I needed to stop and think about what it was even called…) He had a little contraption that was useless so when he found out it was standard, he began pushing me around the parking lot in my car and getting me to release the clutch. We exchanged places and I found myself pushing my own car through an airport parking lot in 4 day old clothing with a foreign man screaming another language at me. Perfect end to the vacation.

We finally got it started when he hooked his car to mine and I handed him more money than he asked for. As he pulled away, he stopped and rolled down his window. My pauper student heart quickened, assuming he conjured up some pity for a hungry, tired and stressed out soul. No. Just wanted to give me a business card for the next time I had trouble. (Seriously…do I have a sign on my forehead?!?)

I then spent the next 20 minutes back in a dank little security office explaining my plight and I was assisted through the service entrance where I made a beeline to Starbucks so I could arrive at my meeting in dirty clothes and a jittery caffeine high. Honestly, it is a wonder that any organization takes me seriously…

So what did I learn in all of this? Truthfully, not much more than I already knew of myself. That I am an accident prone, disaster strucken individual who would not live life any other way. Because it is the unknown and the unexpected in life that makes my life worth living.

Oh, and that clean clothing is a blessing straight from heaven.