In Loving Memory

Harold R. Baptiste
8/28/1929 - 3/27/2010

Harold Rose Baptiste, 80, of New Bedford died at the Royal of Fairhaven, March 27, 2010. He was the son of John and Helena (Rose) Baptiste. 

Born in Barnstable, Mass, he attended Freetown schools. He lived with his foster family headed by Henry Fortes, Sr. And his wife, Julia, along with their children, Ethel Stewart, Marianna Penha, Carlotta Hillman and Henry Fortes, Jr.

He was a veteran of the Korean War, attaining the rank of Private, First Class and was the recipient of the Korean Service Medal and the United Nations Service Medal. 

He worked several jobs in New Bedford before retiring from Stride-Rite. He enjoyed spending time at the Freetown V.F.W., and on hobbies such as reading, crossword puzzles, playing UNO and following the Boston Red Sox.

He is survived by his wife Lillian D. (Gallant) Baptiste, 2 daughters, Annette Lynn Baptiste and her companion Scott C. Heath of Concord, New Hampshire; Michelle L. Baptiste Perez and her husband Alberto of Augusta, Georgia. He was the brother of Catherine Davis of Miami, Elizabeth Grace of New Bedford, Maryanne Wright of Brockton, Maurice Baptiste of Freetown, and Francis Baptiste of New Bedford as well as many nieces and nephews.
 

He was the brother of the late Marguerite Mendoza, John J. Baptiste, George Baptiste, Richard Baptiste, and Clarence Baptiste. Visitation Wednesday morning 8:00 in the funeral home with a service to be conducted in the funeral home at 9:30. Interment in Massachusetts National Cemetery in Bourne at 11:15.

Funeral arrangements are entrusted to Aubertine-Lopes Funeral Home, 129 Allen Street, New Bedford.

THE MBP Agency for the Resettlement of Expatriates

RETURNING EXPATRIATE INFORMATION GUIDE

To whom it may concern,

You are hereby warned of the forthcoming return of ___________________ to the United States in the month of ___________________, year ________.

He/she will be dehydrated, demoralized, listless, somewhat lighter in color and/or weight and suffering from what can be best labeled as withdrawal symptoms. Do not be alarmed. Remember the rude environment that has been his/her miserable lot for the past _(time frame )___.

We ask you, therefore, to read and remember the following submitted for your guidance (and totally without prejudice):

---

DOs

When he/she arrives in the United States, send someone to meet him/her. In the interests of public decency, this must be undertaken by a male member of the household and/or someone capable of holding up an inebriated adult.

Lock up all medication (including over the counter and prescription).

Fill a cupboard/pantry with his favorite beer / spirit / wine (or all 3 in cases of long term assignments). NOTE: serve chilled or with ice.

Warn everyone in the area not to make any sudden moves in his/her presence (as he/she is accustomed to being surrounded by a severe lack of urgency).

DON'Ts

Do not mention any of the following in his/her presence:

Sweden, lagom, work permits, visas, Taxi Kurir, DigiPass, Midsommer, snow, recycling, krona, SEK, tunnelbannan, queues, System Bolaget, COMPASS, Steering Committee, exchange rates, 7-eleven, Closing Cockpit, SAS, COLA rates, Centaur, herring, meatballs, lingonberries, crepes, travel requests, Go-Live, or WebRes.

Do not be alarmed if:

He/she reads newspapers while walking (or during other forms of transportation where focus should be elsewhere), listens to iPod while in crowds of more than 10 people, follows directions without concern for logic or reason, tries to enter every door in the building with a security badge, leaves the office for a 3:30pm 'fika', stands in line without complaint, uses 's' instead of 'z' in some words in written forms of communication, runs with delight after buses/trains, leaves the office between the hours of 2:30 and 3:00 pm on Thursdays for the weekend, refuses to make decisions, and/or weeps when he/she is given such rarities as Papa John Pizza, Sweet Tea or Church's Chicken.

He/she may have aversions to certain combination of letters and numbers.

Do not mention any of the following in his/her presence:

PL101, BP310, BP315, ADM, SAP, SM7, MOCK1, EMEA, EU, EPS, EFS, VA05, APO, CPE, DK, UKIE, SENOFI, TG5, CKC, ELD or PMO

GENERAL

Until you feel he/she is his/her old self again (should that ever happen), do not let him/her out on his own. For example, when shopping, if he/she brings his/her own plastic bags (or tries to pay the cashier for bags used), apologize to them, explain that he/she meant well, comfort him/her and lead him/her from the shop.

If he/she should appear to go berserk because there is a meeting where a decision is actually made and adhered, the best plan is to remind him/her that it is OK to be decisive without the requirement of consensus.

Try not to let him catch you not recycling as this may bring on a psychosomatic recurrence of their ordeals abroad.

He/She will probably be frightened of seeing the following:

Banks that allow customers during the hours of 8am - 5pm+, banks that allow the usage of currency, banks that allow the usage of services without requirement of passports or DNA scans, smiling people, video/dvd rentals that allow the usage of services without passports or DNA scans, happy people, sunshine in the day, darkness at night, and people who drive instead of walk. Be patient and try to explain their uses.

Treat him/her with kindness and tolerance and you may be able to rehabilitate the hollow shell of the happy and healthy person you once knew.

This handout has been prepared for your guidance by:

THE MBP AGENCY FOR THE RESETTLEMENT OF EXPATRIATES

Ciao Francesco Rinaldi

Livin' it up at the The Palace Hotel Moderno

When we last spoke, I was about to behave badly in a foreign country...Italy to be more precise.

After successfully being able to order coffee, a croissant, a boiled egg and OJ, I was ready to brave a very very light conversation.

Here is how it all went down:

Me: Caffe? (Coffee?)

Breakfast Lady: Si. Subitto. Zucchero o crema? (Yes. Something Something. Sugar or cream?)

Me: Due zuccheri, per favore. (Two sugars, please)

Breakfast Lady: Naturalmente. Niente altro? (?? Naturally. Something Something).

Me: Scusi? (Say what?)

Breakfast Lady: Avete fam? (Something something sounds like famished..I assumed it meant hungry only after I produced a stupid look on my face and I think she took it as I could not make up my mind on what to eat, so she pointed to a little menu thingee. Aha!)

Me: Si. Un croissant, un uovo bollito e succo d'arancia. Per favore. Grazie. (Damn, I'm good)

Breakfast Lady: Naturalmente. Per favore, ai uto voi stessie. (Or something like that. She gestured towards a towering table of sweet treats like muffins and other pastries...I assume that meant something like help yourself...)

---

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, Saturday...

It was at this time the 'Jersey' Boys ventured in and heard me with the Breakfast Lady. They did the smart thing and just headed towards the treat table and poured their own coffee (butI bet you mine was better!).

They turn towards me (only person really in there):

Jersey Boys: Excuse me, do you speak English?

Me: Inglese? Un poco. (I make a small gesture with my Peter Pointer and thumb.)

Jersey Boys: Where are you from?

Me: (I'm thinking...you dudes just heard the most grotesque Italian come out of my mouth. I have dark hair and olive skin and dark eyes....If I just answered that I don't speak English and we are in Italy ....I could, just maybe, possibly, be from ...Oh I don't know...Italy perhaps?? But all of that passes through my head in a few seconds.) Scusi?

Jersey Boys: Are you from here?

Me: (In a horrific blend of a Spanish immigrant who learned English from Erik Estrada soap operas and that Apollonia chick from the Godfather). Where I from? (They nod) Pordenone.

Jersey Boys: Is that a nice place?

Me: (Gave them a What-Face and didn't answer)

Jersey Boys: (Getting frustrated already...didn't take long) Is it a nice town?

Me: (Waiting a few seconds too late and then I point to the right). Pordenone? That way.

Jersey Boys: No, no. Not where is the town. Is it nice there. (As they begin to speak more slowly so I can understand them, I pretend to study what they are saying intently).

Me: OH! Si. Si. Yes. Nice town.

Jersey Boys: OK. Nice. Well, have a nice day. (They got a feeling I guess that a conversation with me would go no where, so they turned around and ate their muffins..)

The Breakfast Lady returns and asks if I want anything else...at least her gestures and tone said that.

Me: (In English) No thanks. Everything was wonderful, but I'm running late for a meeting so I really must go now. (I grab my purse and stand up). Grazie. Arrivederci. (And I walk out to start my day...)

---

Would you like to play a game?

Trust me. It was funny. I guess you had to be there, plus, I tend to be amused by non-normal standards.

Anywhoo...I went to work...blah blah blah...meetings meetings meetings...yada yada yada. Only one photo came out OK on the drive to the office and after work, I got to spend about 6 hours in Venice (I wish I had more time, but it was already dark and I was still wiped out from my travel adventures).

I LOVED the look of this police car...and before you even think it, NO, it was not after me even if I have no concept of Kilometers vs Miles per hour...

I took a water taxi over to Venice that night, had dinner in a cozy restaurant, walked around and took a water bus back. How cool is that for a city girl from Massachusetts?

The Adventure Continues

The Adventure Continues (or, better yet stated...)

On I Merrily Stumble

When I last left you, I was attempting to get to Brussels.

In the morning before my next attempt to travel correctly, I met up with the same crazy crew of lost souls. We ate breakfast in relative silence, with only a few chuckles here and there to break the silence. We are all thinking the same thing..."Let's try this again."

I got a cab from the hotel and arrived at the same little airport to tempt fate one more time. In line to get through securing, more familiar faces popped out here and there and friendly hopeful waves of greeting were exchanged.

I get to the gate and... SUCCESS!!

I FINALLY got to where I was supposed to be. Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus (a.k.a. Little Baby God). I spend less than an eventful day working and then get to a 'real' hotel.

Calgon, Take me Away!

Now..this is a hotel room! At least it is compared to where I was for cryin' out loud! Self delusion is often the key to sanity...

Huge bed, room service, ash tray, enormous tub....ahhhhh Heaven.

I had just enough time after turning myself into a tub prune to do a bit of touristy sightseeing in Brussels before I had to get some sleep for my next day at work.

I must admit it was a bit anticlimactic when I finally found my way Manneken Pis. He was just a wee (pun intended) bit smaller than I expected.

Nothing else really crazy happened here. I think I used up all of the zany reserves I had just trying to get here. I had a wonderful dinner in the city and made my way back to the hotel to enjoy some tasty beer in the comfort of my own non-hillbilly hotel.

More work the next day and then off to Italy...Ciao!

That's Amore

Surprisingly enough, my flight to Venice, Italy went off without a hitch. After renting a car at the airport, I was off to Pordenone. It was supposed to be a 45 min to 1 hour drive, but due to some required course corrections (a.k.a. getting lost) I finally got to the hotel a bit after midnight.

I was too tired to take any pics at the hotel. As a whole, this hotel was OK. Nothing fantastic, but a wonderful fantasy land compared to that hillbilly shack I stayed in a few days earlier.

As I got in so late, I had enough time to drink and smoke (of course) and then hit the sack. The next morning at breakfast, the only thing of interest was that the hostesses kept speaking to me in Italian.

Now, before you start having smart-assed thoughts like DUH, you're in Italy! Of course they will speak to you in Italian, DUH, you're in Italy! Of course they will speak to you in Italian,  read on.

Scusi! Grazie! Arrivederci! Prego!

Ordinarily this would not make it blog-worthy, but I figured even after I responded in English, as they did not respond back in my mother-toungue, I figured they must not speak it. Hey, I think that is solid piece of deductive reasoning on my part.

My theory was blown though when they spoke good English with other guests. I think they thought I was Italian while these other dudes were obviously from New Jersey. So they got the English, eh? and I gots the Italiano, eh? Whassamaddu eh? You no speaky dah Italiano eh? (I NEVER have stated that I was politically correct.)

So, I start to act as I always act when I know that (1) no one knows me (2) I will never see any of these people again in my life and (3) I will be leaving the vicinity shortly...basically like a frisky kitten who just found and cornered a pretty little butterfly. Translation: I decided to have fun.

So, in between my coffee and other breakfast goodies (which were hellagood) I started to try to respond back in my best Italian as learned via my official correspondence course materials I have absorbed over the long years of my life. Below are some of the 'Do it Yourself Italian Language and Culture' course material references I used in case you ever want to behave as badly as I do:

Now fully armed with everything any red-blooded American needs in order to function appropriately in a foreign country by using nothing but the culture sensitive nature of mass advertising and blitz marketing...I was ready to make my way seamlessly and smoothly into the Italian culture.

More later on the results....

Now we’re cooking with gas! (sorta)

MBP Land

Because of my super-extended hotel stays, issues with the apartment building water-supply, nightmare-pace business trips, this place is pretty much devoid of any personal touches (not to mention, blankets, a TV, extra pillows, a robe, slippers, oh, and of course - food) as I have had zero time to acclimate to my own Stockholm apartment. Dang!

Water, Water everywhere, but Not a Drop in My Sink

Just a quick blurb here. I was in my apartment for approximately 1 week when I got a notice that the water was being turned off for about a 5 days due to contruction in one of the building’s units. Nice. I just got here and now I have to find some place that has water? Dang!

SO, as luck would have it, a co-worker was heading back to the States for about a week. How convenient, huh? So, I stayed there for the 5 days while my building was under construction. Cute place he had. I of course, ate all of his food and drank all of his beer (no exaggeration). I felt just a little bad about it, but I got over it as I thought that if I wasn’t there, everything would have gone bad anyway, well, except for the beer - which was hellagood!

SO, I left there and headed back to my own waterless apartment to see what was what. Water in water closet? Check. Water in kitchen? Check. Water in bathroom?........Let’s try that again. Water in bathroom?....NOPE.

(Just so you are aware, my toilet and shower are no where near each other in the apartment.)

I found out that construction wasn’t going as easy as planned. Water flowing through a broken pipe just happens to feed almost everyone’s shower room in this building. No one had working showers. Nice. If I wait 4 more days, it might turn on. I realize this is Europe, and some habits may not always translate overseas, but my God, 4 days is a damned long time to not be near any soap don’t you think?

So, as luck would have it, I was scheduled to be on a business trip (or an away mission as I like to call them) for about 4 days. How convenient, huh? By the time I got back from my trip, all water should be where it should, God willing.

Place your Head Between your Knees and Kiss your Sanity Good-bye

I was scheduled to leave Stockholm for Brussels, Belguim. I get to the airport (no panic attack, thank you very much) only to learn that the flight might take off a "bit" late as they had to fly in a replacement plane.

Did you read that last sentence? Here it is again, just in case. "I get to the airport (no panic attack thank you very much) only to learn that the flight might take off a bit late as they had to fly in a replacement plane."

I’m thinking, this cannot be a good sign. It’s not like you got a crack in the windshield of a car you are renting, so they offer to hand you keys to another car. This is a friggin replacement plane they had to fly in. The best part, the clerk told me (yet another crazy-flight-lady in my life),told me to my face, that the pilot is not as familiar with the model they are bringing in, so that’s why there might be a "bit" of a delay.

WTF. I start to freak out so bad, I was calm. Does that make sense? I figured, this won’t end well, I expect it to be a disaster so f*ck it, enjoy another crazy-ass-ride in Michelle-land. I had such a serious urge to watch Airplane!

I hate being right all of the time.

Langoliers

In summary:

Plane leaves 1 hour late. 20 minutes in the air, the flight crew keeps looking out of the windows and then speaking quite quietly to each other. 10 minutes later, they and close the curtain so we can’t see them talking quietly to each other.

A few more minutes in the air, we get notice on PA system "We are having landing gear technical problems and will have to return to Stockholm."

Did you read that last sentence? Here it is again, just in case: "We are having landing gear technical problems and will have to return to Stockholm."

Well, of course we are having technical issues with our landing gear! It’s not like none of us couldn’t hear the damn front wheel wheezing and whirling trying to get back into’s it bay. This is no shock.... afterall, we’re in Michelle-land now!

So, we land OK back at Stockholm but that’s it. We just land and move a few meters on the runway....maybe a bit to the right, but not much.

Buses show up to cart us miles away to the airport, where, we are given directions, in Swedish, on what to do next. Of course I had no real idea what was said - just context to work with and the crowd of angry passengers to follow and be swept away with.

I tried to get someone who looked like they might work for an airline to help me find a way to get to Brussels that night. Unfortunately, as the entire flight was trying to do what I was doing, I did not get very far.

So, I spent 2 hours on a plane only to arrive at my departure point. Did you read that  last sentence?

Arrived at my departure point 2 hours later. Trippy. I was having visions of the Langoliers by Stephen King as it seemed like no one except for the passengers on the plane we just de-boarded was around. 

I called the co-worker I was supposed to meet in Brussels that evening and said I’ll see him sometime in the afternoon tomorrow if I cannot find a way out tonight. After getting an earful of advice on what to do, how to do it, when to do it and what I was doing wrong, which really pissed me off as - had he understood EVERYONE was trying to rebook a flight to Brussels, I decided who gives a sh*t if I make it in at 3 a.m. or 10 a.m.? Either way, I’m not going to be in a meeting until 1 p.m..... C’mon people!!! Work with me here!!

Livin’ it up at the Hotel Arlanda

So, I stayed at the most po-dunk little Swedish motel known to man. 

Hilarious. The rest of the Langoliers flight (about 80% of them) stayed at the same hotel to all leave again together on the same flight to the same destination the next morning. About this time, I began thinking about one definition of insanity: repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results.

I hung about with some nice people while we drank our one (as in single, solitary, lone, companionless, sole, and unaccompanied) complimentary watery beer. 

The rest of the Langoliers, as a whole, were really nice people. Well hell, we spent most of the damned day together and nothing brings people closer together than a flight emergency landing, frantic airline clerks, bad airport food, lost luggage, hill-billy hotels, and absolutely no customer service. 

So, eh, all in all not a bad day in Michelle-land.

I’ll fill you in later on what happened after I made it to Brussels (finally) , quick layover in Munich, Germany and eventually Italy (Venice, Porcia and Pordenone).

Swedish Randomness

Did you know

(These may or may not be 100% accurate, but hey, I don't get paid to look sh*t up for verification)

• Dogs, not just or only-seeing eye dogs, are allowed on the subway (certain cars).
• It is normal to have smoked salmon (cold of course) for breakfast. It's pretty good actually.
• You can pick up your mailed packages from the local 7-eleven - which are EVERYWHERE.
• Getting into nightclubs in Stockholm is almost as tough as getting through New York airport security.
• This is the most messed up thing I've seen yet (Swedish elevator sticker)...OUCH!
• If you want to purchase the 'good' beer / wine / spirits, you need to go to the government owned liquor stores.
• You need to purchase your own little grocery bag when you shop (paper or plastic)
• Swedish Rap Music isn't all together that bad.
• A dessert called Sorbet of Sea Buckthorn (it's a berry) isn't too bad either.
• There are some 'interesting' little bars / restaurants tucked away in some of the subway stations.
• The trendy thing is to hang out in Hotel Bars / Restaurants. (After 2 months of living in a hotel, it will be LONG time before I consider hanging out here fun...)

• You get assigned seating at the movie theater.
• Swedes drive on the right side of the road and most actually stop for pedestrians
• Most US TV programs have Swedish subtitles...that's one way to learn the language I guess.
• Depending on where you are in the city, everything shuts down about 8pm.
• Depending on where you are in the city, everything opens about 8pm.
• At the winter solstice in late December, the day lasts about only six hours, whereas at the summer solstice in late June, Stockholm's daylight period extends beyond 18 hours.
• Tipping is around 10% or less of the bill.
• Swedes seem to like to run to catch the subway train even though one will follow in about 1.5 minutes. I haven't figured that one out yet.
• Swedes walk VERY VERY VERY fast. I get passed by people all the time - even the elderly. Sad sad sad.
• Everyone on the subway is either reading a free metro-news paper, listening to their i-pods, or is on the phone. I feel like I'm on a nature safari or at the zoo because I don't do any of those - I just watch people.
• Pippi Longstocking (Pippi Långstrump) is very popular.

That's all I've got for now. I might add summore later.

We're Coming to America

The Adventure Thus Far....

Let’s recap :

Moved from one city to another in Georgia. Drove for like the 5th time in my life on a highway (I have serious phobias about nothing). Moved in a hurry from the US to Stockholm. Spent 2 months in a hotel. Finally got an apartment in Stockholm.  That pretty much sums it up right there....

God Bless America

Well, now that I was getting settled in Stockholm, of course that meant it was time for a change of scenery. SO, off on a business trip I went (and on the side, pack some stuff to ship to myself).

As we all know by now, nothing NORMAL ever happens to me. SO, here we go:

A funny thing happened on the way to Arlanda

I killed my Swedish cell phone (couldn’t memorize an eight digit PIN) and I had a SEVERE panic at the Stockholm airport. I was freaking out as I was only at that airport once, about 2 months prior with my husband and this time I was on my own. I wasn’t crying (really too hard) just shaky and a little teary-eyed because I had no idea what I was doing / where I was going.

To strangers who happened to observe me that day, I looked normal (hee hee). If any friend saw me that day, they could easily tell I was faking being normal or trying to fake I was normal. If you haven’t figured this out by now, I have phobias about things normal people wouldn’t even think twice about. I’m just not wired the same.  I do a lot (I mean a lot) of things daily that freak me out, I just do it by pretending I’m OK with it.

After a while it just becomes normal to be so damned uncomfortable. If I had to label it, it would be something like Agoraphobia-lite, but I’m no expert nor do I plan on seeing one anytime soon. I try not to call ’it’ something as I prefer not to use it as a crutch. I freak out when I go out, I know this about myself, so I deal with it by talking myself into doing it / pretending I know where I’m going / what I’m doing. Ok. Enough with the serious talk...

So, half a pack of cigarettes later and 2 wrong service counters (even after I asked someone - so that was no real help) I finally got to the correct gate. Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus.

The plane ride was a blur. I fell asleep and woke up in time for a meal. Next thing I knew, I was landing in Newark. THAT was interesting.

Everywhere around the world they’re coming to America

HOLY CRAP. This place (Newark Airport) is like Escher’s hell. I found it so hard to get around this place compared to Stockholm's airport. It was mental.

I was doing OK following the crowd off the airplane, but when I got to passport control - that was interesting. The guy handling the line I was in was extremely business-like trying to herd the crowd along yelling "C’mon guys. This way! Let’s go!"

When I got to the dude and handed over my passport, he seemed to be taking a long time reviewing it and looking at me. I’m thinking OH CRAP, just my luck that I can’t get back into my own country. Wouldn’t that be the highlight of my life right now?

FINALLY, he says "Are you Dominican?"  I may not be the brightest bulb, but occasionally, I do blink. I was pretty sure this dude was hitting on me. I responded, "If I said yes, would you stamp that quicker?"  Surprisingly he laughed , smiled, and asked again. I said, "I’m Cape Verdean."  He then drew an air-map of Africa and pinpointed the Cape Verde Islands. I was impressed. He said he knew some Cape Verdeans and they all seem "to have dark eyes" like mine. He finally handed me back my passport. Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus, I’m in AMERICA!

Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on?

All I had to do was find the friggin Delta counter, get my boarding pass, find a bar and go to the gate. That’s it. That’s the goal. But, no Delta counter. Nada. Nothing. Lost AGAIN.

So here I am, walking around asking who ever would respond, where is the Delta counter. They all pointed to places I have already searched. Mental. Then I see the exit doors. Screw this, I have to go through security again anyway so...smoke’em if you got’em.

I made a few calls outside (US cell phone was now working) explaning quicky to my girl, Holly, that I have been like Tom Hanks in that movie the Terminal just wandering around trying to find this friggin Delta counter.

 I go back in and ask one more guy behind the SAS (Scandinavian Air) counter:

ME: "Excuse me, can you tell me where the Delta ticket counter is?"

SAS: "Yes. See that large red sign?" (It was easily 7ft tall and read ’SAS: Full Service Care’)

ME: "Yes"

SAS: "It’s behind that big red sign"

ME: "Oh.....Perhaps if you lowered your SAS sign people can see the frigging Delta counter!" (Ya’ll know what I said...it definitely wasn’t frigging)

I FINALLY get to the Delta counter and I ended up with a genuine honest-to-God Soft-Talker. I had NO CLUE what this guy was saying. Couldn’t hear a word of it. I don’t even think there was air in this man’s lungs to produce sound if he wanted.  He would have made an excellent mime.  I had to lean so far over the counter and say "WHAT?" so many times, he finally realized I obviously didn’t speak English and this was my first trip to the US.

So, Soft-Talker starts to use hand signals in between simplified English directions:

(He hands me my boarding pass)  "GATE 46!" (Holds up 4 fingers and then holds up 6 fingers)

"THAT WAY!" (Points to the right)

I’m playing charades in the middle of an airport from Hell with the Soft-Talker-Mime-Man who works at the Hidden Ticket Counter. All that was needed was Mr. Tumnus to come wakling by in my little Chronicles of Newark story. Sweet Baby Jesus.

I FINALLY get to my gate (Gate 46 to the right - duh) and start giggling to myself like a moron because nothing with me is ever straight forward. 

Either this stuff happens to people all the time and they are used to it, or freaks and weirdos are just drawn to me...the jury is still out on that one.

It ain’t over till it’s over

OK. Just one more flight and I’m home free. They call my zone. I walk up. Boarding-pass-scanner-lady beeped me in and....

Just when I’m ready to walk down the ramp to board the plane, Juggernaught from the X-Men comes barrelling back up the ramp (blocking my and everyone else’s entry) and starts yelling at the boarding-pass-scanner-lady.  

He is seated at one of those bulk-head things and starts screaming that he can’t sit there because of his knee surgery. All he wanted to do was switch seats with someone. The boarding-pass-scanner-lady said all he had to do was ask someone. 

Juggernaught didn’t catch on and kept yelling. I was trying to sneak behind him somehow just to get on the damned plane. It seemed like it took me about 5min of maneuvering before I was able to slip in under his elbow. 

What the hell man...I just want to go home for cryin out loud!

What else could possibly happen?

I will not bore you with too many details, BUT, my car died on the way to my business meeting (something to do with my battery, belts, bongles, bits and bobs), I dropped my personal US cell phone in the rain, it fell in a puddle, I tried to get it and stepped on it with my high heels. For those of you keeping score, that is 2 cell phones gone in less than a week - Swedish and US -- nice! My credit card was cut off, my ATM card wasn’t working, and I broke my favorite lip-stick. HA! Good times. Good times.

Any good come out of all of this?

When my car died at a gas station, the way this trip has gone so far, nothing really bothered me as much and everything was kinda OK and funny in a messed up way. SO...I walked into the gas station /convenience shop, where there were about 6 guys getting morning coffee /snacks, and I say really loudly in the thickest most hillbilly-accent you’ve ever heard:

"Can one ya’ll jump me?"

The 6 guys come racing outside...

"I meant the car"

4 guys walk back inside...

----------------------

When I took my car to the auto-parts store, the guy at the counter said, "Ma’am, you have bad diodes."

I said, "Sir, you don’t know me well enough to say that to me."

"Ma’am, I meant the car."

---------------------

When I needed to jump my car before I got to the mechanics, the hotel’s maintenance guy was Methuselah himself who named all of his tools....His favorite is Sparky, his jumper cables.

--------------------

At the mechanics, the owner was going to have one of his employees drop me off at work. This was a really big dude, so I asked the owner:

Me: "Can I trust him?"

Owner: "For about 5 minutes"

Me: "Thank God I work only 3 minutes away. Let’s go."

Mechanic: "I just need to wait for about 2 more minutes."

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That is all for now...I’ll keep you posted if something zany happens on my way back to Stockholm.

Sweet Baby Jesus.