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Standing atop the Frankfurt Main Tower,
Frankfurt, Germany May -2012 |
“Madam, would you care for water?” asks the waiter with a
heavy German accent.
“Yes, please” I reply (the humidity is taking my breath away and my
12 hour deodorant is calling for a generator back up).
“Fizzy or Flat?” he asks politely
“Tap? With ice?” I respond (teetering precariously on my
sustainable soapbox that I have brought with me from Canada)
The waiter returns with a teeny, tiny glass (the kind in
which restaurants serve freshly squeezed orange juice) and a glass bottle of
water. He uncaps the lid and pours me about 2 oz of water (1/2 of the teeny,
tiny glass), sets the bottle down with the flourish of someone serving the
finest Pinot Noir and slips away.
At this point a droplet of sweat has escaped my neckline and
is now trickling down my back. Eyeing the bottle piously (I had requested tap
water) I consider calling the waiter back, but hey…..the bottle is already
opened! (I lose my footing on the sustainability soapbox and fall off)
Grasping the glass with both hands I drink, gulping….heavens
to Betsy it tastes good!
14 miniature glasses of bottled flat water later, my
internal fluid levels have returned to normal. By my mathematical calculations,
I have taken in more fluid than is leaking out and my brain function is now
fully functional.
I begin to reflect.
Here I was….miles from home, sitting in an open air
restaurant in Frankfurt, Germany with a group of friends and work colleagues.
My first transatlantic crossing evah! To be fair….they say
we flew over the polar ice cap, but hey….it’s my story and transatlantic sounds
much more glamorous.
The trip had not been without it’s {cough} issues. The first
bump in the proverbial road (or is it the first proverbial bump in the road....which one?) came in Calgary as we all sat waiting to board the
aircraft.
“Attention Ladies and Gentlemen” crackled the loudspeaker
“We regret to inform you that we are having some difficulties with the
in-flight entertainment system. Our engineers are working on it, but we may
have to depart without it fully functional. We apologize for any inconvenience that this may cause. If you would like to purchase a
magazine or other reading material, there is time to do so before we board the
aircraft”.
Then they repeated it in French.
We (all of us sitting in the boarding area heard it as) “Yo
Passengers! The TV is super broken on the plane, and no….no one is actually
working on it cuz it’s real broke, like blue screen of death broke. We have
tried control+alt+delete, but it didn’t work so we will be flying 9.5 hours
without it. Yep! No movies, no music, no television programs…..nada, nil,
nothing. You will be really bored, and honestly…. you will have that single
magazine read before we begin our in-flight food service, so perhaps save your
money and use it to purchase more booze. Yeah….we know it sucks”.
Sigh…….
Which brings me to this moment, sitting in the restaurant,
trying to look like I belong when I so clearly do not. The jaunty blue scarf,
tied at my neck that looked so European that morning, now appeared wilted and
damp; high heels had been abandoned for flip flops; my makeup a distant memory
in the high humidity.
We get up to leave.
“So nice to see you again Judy” states G, a friend from
Barcelona and he leans in for “the kisses”. (Insert haunting strains of banjo
music here as I begin to completely over-think the situation)
- Will
we start on the right or the left cheek?
- Who
initiates? (always have trouble with that one)
- Do you
hang on for the kiss? Do you embrace or is it more like one of those little ‘chickens that pick up the toothpick situation’ – do you both “bob in” for
the kiss, arms at your side?
- Would
it be two kisses or (as I had seen recently) the kiss “trifecta”?
- Will I
fumble? If he does go for the third kiss and I am not prepared, it can
change from an elegant goodbye to something more akin to a bad first date.
I lean in and we kiss right cheeks (so far so good), pulling
back slightly we go to the left (almost done) and then pulling away….I hesitate
ever so slightly in preparation for the rogue third kiss. Wait for it…wait for
it….no! It was not to be. G is a traditionalist and a double kiss kind of
fellow. My hesitation went unnoticed (thank goodness).
Whew! I glance around. My friends were laughing and smiling
and for once it wasn’t about me. I was fitting in!
Over the next couple of days I mastered the double and
triple kiss and by the time I arrived home safely in Canada I felt so
damn European!
The next time we meet….I just might lean in for a kiss!
Maybe even attempt a quad!
Judy
