Saturday, May 14, 2011

Someone Thought I Was British!

Blogger had some issues yesterday and today.  Two of my posts got deleted, but they're working to put them back up (without comments).  Here's the link to yesterday if it's still not showing up when you scroll down:
How Your Cell Pictures Define You
Anyway . . . I need to start saving my posts in MS Word.

So back to the point and sorry for the issues ;)

My favorite day of the trip was when we went to the Delta Sky Lounge. 

It wasn't 'cause we got to meet this guy (although that would have been neat):
It was because my Viking dad paid some money, pulled some serious strings, so we could wait in style for our flight.  The Sky lounge rests on the second floor--the level no one knows exists!  We found the secret elevator, hit number two and held our breath.  When the double doors opened, we saw a room just ahead.  It gleamed with golden decorations and elaborately shining tile.  I felt as if walking through the gates of Heaven and they didn't even check my criminal history!

Classical music played from the front desk.  Many different people waited in the massive room.  I saw one man who spoke with a Russian accent, a woman with an Italian nose and flare.   We met a family from Japan!  But my favorite part was when I heard the people with the British accent!

On a side note: British people are awesome.  They're practically related to the royals since the royals are British too.

I just love the way they talk; that alone is cooler than any pair of boots I've seen.  I soaked in the accents of the two couples sitting yards from me.  The father looked through a magazine.  He kept mumbling to himself about escorts.  "Hmmm."  Even his mumbling sounded sophisticated!  "This escort looks like a man.  Looks like a man, but tastes like a woman."  He chuckled, but although the couple across from him laughed, his wife acted as if she hadn't heard a word.

So, other than that comment, the place shone with awesomeness.  Not only did British people wait there, but the Sky Lounge had FREE food, expensive crackers and various cheeses.  Tea!  They had fancy dips, carrots and broccoli.  I knew the Delta Sky workers love British people too because they'd specifically catered to them.  I always see British people on T.V..  They'll practically die for tea and crackers.  That's when I felt my calling.  I too could could sit straight.  I too could drink tea, with my pinkie out, and enjoy the finer things in life.  I too could seem like royalty!  Sure I'd just lived through the Disney World experience.  My mascara hadn't been updated in days.  I had a serious burn and my hair hung in clumps.  My shirt had a spit-up stains and I'd torn my new jeans, but all that aside, I could STILL PRETEND TO BE BRITISH!

With that pep talk in mind, I grabbed some tea, gulped it from an American cup, and shoved those dainty crackers in my mouth.  I know I looked the part because at that exact moment a Delta employee came up to me.


Everyone quieted for a moment, everyone except two Italians who disputed something in Italian.  (I'm not claiming to be an expert on Italy here, but since my grandma was Italian . . . enough said.) 

The Delta employee trotted up to me.  "Excuse me," she said politely.  She held a bunch of itinerary in her hands.

I nodded, still holding my tea to my mouth, still keeping my pinkie out.

"Are you British?" she asked.  "I'm supposed to deliver these papers--"

She stopped because I'd nearly choked on my tea.  I wore the biggest smile ever.  I thought about responding in an accent.  I could pull it off--I just knew it; I'd already fooled her enough.  All I had to do was flaunt an accent.  She was American; she'd believe me!  I almost did it.  But since I looked so haggard, I wanted to use one of those poor British accents--from My Fair Lady--where you never say your H's.  Like: "I 'ad a nice day, I did.  It was a lovely day for a 'oliday."  But my mom walked next to me and instead of being a cool liar, I turned to the employee and smiled with Christianity.  "I'm so sorry, but I'm not British.  I wish I was, but I'm not."

"You look awfully British."

"How sweet."  I giggled.  "But I'm not."  I took another sip of tea.

She looked down at the papers, then all the people in the room.  "But it says here that I need to find someone who's British . . . with disabilities."

What the Hell?!  British (the greatest compliment ever) but WITH DISABILITIES?  Why would that be me?  I know I looked like I'd fallen off the cruise ship and then been found in the waves.  I pictured myself as someone who barely survived a war--in a wheelchair.  With no arms and no legs.  I pictured myself without a nose and with only one eye.  It was strange because I looked a lot like Jack Sparrow, just without the facial hair and limbs.

I paused, maybe she didn't mean the worst disabilities ever.  "Disabled" could mean that I had back problems.  Heck, with bad enough migraines I could have a handicapped parking sticker (in the U.S.)

What type of disabilities? I wanted to ask when the "tastes like a woman" man suddenly raised his hand.

"Excuse me, Miss.  I think you're looking for my wife."

I looked over and noticed his wife's hearing aids.  She smiled and waved happily.  I loved her at that moment.  She was the one the employee looked for and she was beautiful.  She'd taught me that people can overcome things, hard things when they know who they are.  She seemed really happy despite her hearing impairment.  God taught me a lesson.  I'd pretended to be British, I'd longed for it, coveted their British accents--and that's why God had that Delta worker talk to me.  Sure, He practically told me, I'll let someone think you're British.  I wondered if God laughed in Heaven because I suddenly knew I should never covet again.  I need to be happy with myself, my hearing ears and my American accent. 

I told The Scribe the whole story.  I was still sad.  "What type of disabilities do you think she thought I had?  Was it a metal disability?  Maybe she thought I was nuts?"

The Scribe just shrugged.  "So, who was she looking for?" she asked.

"That lady over there."  I put my hand to my mouth and motioned discretely.

The Scribe's eyes grew wide.  "The one with the things on her ears?"

I nodded again.

"She's beautiful.  So that's what you'd look like if you were British.  That's way cool!"