I’ve been on vacation this last week…hence no beauty post. I
hope you all can forgive that. I don’t know about you all, but I unplug myself
completely when I’m on vacation. That means no Facebook, no email—not even my
phone…mostly. I answer texts and phone calls only when absolutely critical.
Still, this next post is about travel—which I know a lot of
us out there do for our lines or our jobs. We experience those horrible flights
that are inevitable. Those whack roommates who are unavoidable—and, of course, those
crazed events or competitions that seem unending.
I had to travel for work recently, right before my vacation.
This trip, like a few others I've had (hello, day trip to San Francisco), was a real experience. I should have known
the moment I dropped my large Trish McEvoy page, loaded with some of my favorite
discontinued Nars eye shadow, on my bathroom floor. Literally five minutes
before I had to leave for the airport.
Yeah, big mess.
Anyway, my flight was on the smallest commercial plane I’d
ever been on. The first ten rows were single seats. Just as I was about to get
hopeful, they broke off in to two tinier seats. I ended up next to a yoga
instructor on her way to Mexico. She was super nice—which was great…but
unfortunately, the rest of the plane smelled of vomit. The stink only grew
worse throughout the flight.
We exited, all of us gladly, only to find ourselves on a
little island inside the LAX airport. Now, I’ve flown in and out of this
airport more than any other. I had no idea it had these little outposts. The
buses there run slow…probably because they need to wait on the runway for the
damn planes as they shuttle you in.
I started my California adventure (pun absolutely intended) in
a cab with a driver who reminded me of the one we had in Mexico. I am certainly
no stranger for road rage, but damn. That was one angry, jolting, colorful cab ride through Los Angeles.
The actual school/training part of my day was great. I have
to say, after fifteen years in cosmetics…I have finally found a real home in the
line I work with. And as an artist, it’s ironic it isn’t with a makeup line (though
I am, and will always be, a huge fan of Nars…). I left that day the way they
mean you to leave. With dedication, excitement and confidence.
However, I was still a long way from home…
The cab ride back to the airport was much better. This
driver was more relaxed—and it only cost a couple dollars more for that nice, calm
drive. Once through security, I did what most all of you would do. I had a
drink.
Of course, in an airport, the damn thing cost me nearly $16,
but it was the size of a soup bowl. Since I didn’t want a $16 piece of chicken
with it, I ordered the cheapest thing I could…a bowl of “world renowned Chowder”.
It came with dense, soggy fries which were chewy enough that the only way to
tolerate them was to dip it in the white mass of gelatin-looking soup in front
of me—which seemed to float in a layer of yellow grease inside my bowl. Tucked
inside the soup were three, large lumps of star shaped saltwater crackers.
After trying the soup and the fries, I decided maybe the crackers were safer.
Nope. There was nothing safe or yummy about them. They were
hard and stale. So I ate what I could stomach, but mostly sat there and drank
my wine…that is, until a gnat flew into it.
At this point, I only had ten minutes until my boarding
time. If the glass hadn’t cost me $16, I might have just left it. Instead, I
rushed to the bar, pleading with the bartender to refill my wine—but only to
the point it was before the gnat. I didn’t want to stumble onto the plane.
So I got a fresh glass, which I was then forced to down so I
could get back to my gate.
I reached it with only a few minutes to spare. Now, here is
where the writer in me found some really fun entertainment. There was a slew of
characters around me on the plane. I’ve told you before how I look for traits
in strangers that I can file away and use for later…well, I found one of my
best one yet.
It was the lady with
the crucifix. Not a necklace, or one that people hold in their hands, but a
giant two and half foot Jesus on a cross that she cradled like a toddler on her
hip. On her other shoulder hung a neon pink tote bag with the words ‘I Love
Jesus’ stitched into it.
Obviously…
I finished my day parked on the plane, stuck between a man
who looked just like the bad guy from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom—the one
who rips out other people’s hearts—and a big trucker whose t-shirt said ‘For
Sale: Good Old Bob’.
At least I can say my day was very entertaining…
Cheers to you all!!! And happy traveling;)
