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the one thing i love about my group of friends is that we actually do fun shit. someone has a fun idea and then that idea steadily gains momentum until it materializes into reality. such is the case with the bfamily excursion into london for new years eve.
it began by joe and jack being invited by rich to play at rich's new years eve party in london. playfully they asked, "alright, who's coming?", probably never expecting that one by one, five of us would fall into line. first, it was to only be john and maly. then anna and anne learned that they got their shifts covered at the restaurant they work at, and they were in. with a crew like that in tow, how could i resist? december 27th through january 3rd would find me in london, england. word.
tickets from sfo to london heathrow were only $350, with an additional $100 in bullshit taxes. since jon, maly, anne, anna and i booked our tickets later than joe and jack, the only way we could get the tickets for that price was to accept a 10 hour layover at jfk in the middle of the night. shitty, yes, but a sacrifice we were all willing to make.
the next obstacle that stood in our way was finding accomodations. originally, joe and jack had planned on staying with rich, their friend and promoter of the party. when maly and john decided to go, they had hooked up accomodations with maly's friend phil. so far so good, but when anna, anne, and i decided to come with, things got more complicated as none of us had any friends in london we could stay with. plus, with this many people going, we all wanted to lodge as closely as possible.
automatically we ruled out getting hotel rooms. too expensive and some of us is broke these days, one of them being yours truly. the hostel option was a bit too ghetto for what we had in mind for the trip. you can't get a group of seven motherfuckers in a hostel room and do excessive amounts of coke with wild abandon, you know? and that's kinda what we had in mind.
joe ended up finding the best kept secret in london, a flat-rental centrally located in hyde park, with two rooms available, both with one double and one single bed in each room. while relatively small in square footage, there was enough sleeping space to accomodate six, with one person taking the floor. each room had its own private bathroom complete with a shitter and shower, and as a bonus, each room had its own kitchenette with a microwave and a fridge. the grand total for each person for the week would be $175. $25 a day, not bad at all. score, the rooms were booked and we were all set.
having never been abroad, i lacked a passport. not thinking that it was a huge deal, i thought i'd just go in, give the fuckers my id, birth certificate, the passport application, and two identical photos, and 6 weeks later i'd be good to go. and i did. however, 6 weeks later i get not my passport, but a letter in the mail from the u.s. state department informing me that they need more documents further proving my identity, such as high school transcripts, parents' birth certificates, tax records, etc. by this time it's early december and i'm freaking the fuck out because here i am with a ticket to london and no goddamned passport. and to get the passport, i have to snail-mail documents to the federal government and cross my fingers that the state department bureaucracy will be efficient.
so at this point, i figure i'm fucked. but i mail the shit anyway and on december 20h, i call the passport agency (a call that has to be paid for via credit card or 900#, btw....) to inquire about the status of my application. i'm told that they've received my documents and the application is under review. the passport information lady asks me if i am interested in paying extra to expedite the process and have the shit sent express mail, and i grudgingly agree because i'm so desperate. she encourages me to call back on christmas eve (and pay them again for information that should be freely available to me in the first place) and i'll know for sure whether or not i'll get it in time. monday the 23rd rolls around, and at about 8am i get a ring on my cellphone from a weird 803 areacode. i don't know anybody who lives in the 803, so i silence the ringer and go back to sleep. rrrrrrrrrrrring again. ringer silenced. rrrrrrrrrrrrrring again. by this time, my senses come to me and i remember that 803 is in south carolina, and that's where the passport processing offices are. i answer. the goddess on the other end informs me that she's calling from the passport center and she needs to verify my address before overnighting my passport. i give it to her, make her repeat it back to me twice, and i hang up the phone. on christmas eve, my passport was delivered via fedex and i was good to fucking go. the words, "i love the u.s. government!" have never once crossed my lips, but on christmas eve 2002, the did and at the top of my lungs. in hindsight, i figure those fucks owe me for the additional expedite fee, so i'll remember that when i do my taxes this year.
with everything in hand in order to go to london, i went shopping and hit up the christmas and after christmas sales. my biggest score? a big ass north face back pack that normally retails for $235, for $75. and i only needed to walk a block to find it.
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