Sitting next to a crying child on a plane can be pretty damn bad but being nestled in between four is scientifically proven to be 300-400% worse. (I nearly failed statistics in college for those now realizing that.)
It was like these random children had devised a strategic siege for the 11-hour flight from Houston to Istanbul: the two behind me kept pounding and kicking the back part of my seat and the two in front would tag-team their crying patterns, a perfectly synchronized cacophony.
After discovering what a scam Turkish currency exchange rates are, I readied for my second flight to London which was a bit more… combative.
When a passenger suddenly wasn’t too keen on wearing a face mask, I was reintroduced to the English arsenal of swear words like “fookin’ hell”, “wanker” and “if you don’t mask up I’m going to come up and beat the living s*#@ out of you, you bloody c-” and other lovely four-letter vocabulary I choose not to write on such public a forum.
Luckily - and after delaying the flight for over an hour - the 91-year-old woman put on a face shield to everyone’s frustrated applause.
I realized that unlike Mexican swearing which typically follows a “one-size-fits-all-chinga-tu-madre” philosophy, English verbal fusillades are almost poetic insults that take into account a person’s appearance and apparel - or, in this particular case, lack thereof.
I chose to arrive to Oxford at the very normal time of 2 a.m. because it’s part of the austerity measures package of finding cheap flights and buses and enrolling in grad school after having “made” a “living” as a journalist and willingly foregoing any reliable income for the next year, too.
I’m also going through the very singular American rite of passage by taking on thousands of dollars in debt :) This was, not ironically, much easier to obtain than an overseas ballot and probably just as expensive to mail back. (To be fair, I did get my ballot this morning via email but I have no access to a printer so fml.)
Oxford doesn’t really have much financial aid (it’s called Hardship Fund over here, like it’s some chapter from the lost Oliver Twist sequel) but that’s also because, as my European friends remind me, a year of school here doesn’t cost the price of a nice BMW sports car and the car will actually take you places.
Given our world-renowned mishandling of the pandemic, Americans have to self-isolate in the U.K. for 14 days upon arrival which means not leaving your room except to defecate and that’s really about it.
Freedom: so close, yet so 13-days far.
Seeing as there were no taxis from Gloucester Bus Station to Wolfson College, my 30-minute walk was to be my sole exercise for the next two weeks. My (mom’s) rolling bag which had survived Mexico, France, Italy, Dubai and Turkey couldn’t handle the mean cobblestone streets of England; the poor thing lost not only one of its wheels but a considerable part of its orange hardshell exterior, leaving a middle-finger-sized hole as a final “f*ck you” from beyond the rolling bag grave.
Self-isolation also means no use of any communal space AKA no kitchen.
I was promised a kettle in my room but seeing as how the electrical outlets are outfitted for the Victorian Era and this could be a fire hazard, I now have no kettle and 5 kilograms of uncooked pasta and ramen. I’m currently heating up my frozen lasagna lunch by pinning it against the radiator and the ham and cheese I ordered I place next to the window to remain, as per instructions, in the “0 to 5 degree Celsius” range when night falls. If I wake up late and the sun is high, the ham smells and the cheese melts.
Camembert cheese: tastes great, smells like trash.
Being back in school albeit older and as an “adult” is exciting. Even if you get lost on the way to your building at 2:30 a.m. and the night guard has to come out to get you a second time “because I saw you walking around aimlessly on the cameras” to literally hold your hand because you couldn’t follow his directions the first time and yes, even if you almost have to get him a third time because you almost lock yourself out of your room half-naked after taking a shower.
Cheers.
The guard when I ask for help a third time.