The night before my ticket was to be used is in the top five worst nights of my life thus far. Everything was packed. My backpack looked hardcore and awesome. A group of friends awaited me at leaf and bean for coffee and prayer. Beka, Dan and I were laughing and mocking my new money holder under the shirt bag thing my papa insisted that I buy. It was fun.
Then..at leaf and bean…I couldn’t give caleb his usual 2.00 for a drink because my new “travel wallet” was nowhere to be found. We looked for it at home. We called the café back. We went to the café. We looked around again. We unpacked everything. I was very controlled and did not freak out at all. My resolution dwindled as we filled in a police report, realizing the bag (complete with neck strap, passport, license, mad amounts of money and my only debit card) was taken (by SOMEONE) and not coming back.
So. What to do? To look through my disturbingly unorganized chest of stuff from around the world for an old passport, then drive to NYC in hopes of scoring an appointment in time? Dad and I left for the city around 1:15 AM. (we had to repack, we had to find the passport and other things..) I didn’t really get to say a real gbye to han and caleb. They gave me minihugs of sympathy and said see ya in the morning, not expecting me to just leave without a passport.
We’ll see what happens. The place I’d hoped to go for an appointment won’t see me for ten days and they have a mean lady who works there and already smacked down all my hopes.
There is a sketchy little rush outfit on sixth ave that “if you get here as soon as possible, we’ll see what we can do.” They basically bought all the open appointments (which are free) and will sell them to me for a 9000000000000 fine.
It still feels like a bad nightmare. Cant wait to be on the plane, whenever it is.
UPDATE: im in the jetblue terminal sipping dunkin donuts coffee and charging my computer. It appears I will not only make it to morocco, I’ll make it to morocco on time.
What kind of person is able to get a passport in LESS than twentyfour hours?! My dad = still my hero. He’s really something sometimes. You all shoulda seen him braving a snowstorm and better yet, zipping in and out of all the taxis and driving like a nyc maniac.
im stoked. And more exhausted than I can tell you.
update: Jan. 1st.
in marrakech. more tired than ive ever been (even that one day, brian) my eyes wont stay open and i literally fell asleep during this sentence (jet lag + no sleep last night + no sleep the night before last night either.it’s perfect though, here. and a couple nice guys are showing me around the city. sometimes it helps me to see if i keep just one eye open..