Please hold the line
The perfect day would certainly not contain those words uttered over the phone. Any day not holding this experience is nigh perfect. When arriving in London in 2000 for the second time, some of the luggage would have been too heavy for me to take onto the bus with me. Oh, look, here is a rabbit trail. So, said journey, my friend was supposed to pick me up. Despite having sent quite a fair bit by post, I still had a good 40 kg’s with me. I step outside the bus and? No one. Not one single soul there, apart from the anonymous masses frequenting Victoria Station.
So, with my few coins I get on the tube, literally dragging my one hockey bag on the floor. I would have never managed to pick it up, let alone carry it. So, I did have a mobile, but it was close to running out. I scribble down the address of my new abode and try a few times to call my friend. No answer. Can you believe I never even found out what happened that day? So I go to the nearest stop, please remember pre-smart phone. No cash, not knowing where to go. Some cab driver has a heart and promises to take me to where I need to go. Surely someone there can lend me some money?
We go to the address which turns out to be the wrong one, of course. Battery dead, me slowly dying. Of anger, frustration, disappointment, tiredness. A bus ride takes well over 24 hours. The taxi driver is beginning to loose faith in me. And, also, to this day I don’t know what happened next. I simply can not remember. In London are several streets with the same name, yet located in different area codes. I do not remember if the cabby took me there, or did I walk the rest? I vaguely remember to have done some walking with that horrific bag.
As I arrive at my new flat share I do not remember what happened there either. Anyway, I get there, and the next few days I literally spend hours every day with holding the line, chasing up the parcels that, too, gotten lost in some vague unidentified place in space and time. Mostly Scottish accents greet me in the kindest manner, yes, what tragedy I have to call in due to such a terrible reason. After two weeks I give up. I literally have done everything, from travelling out to the entrepot of the delivery company to holding that line still.
The day it arrives I am informed that it had been by that very door I had gone to to check. Funny how none of those things are with me now, as they all seized to be of importance to me over the years. My friend, too, seized to exist. Not in general, only in her being a friend to me. Out of sheer anger I found it impossible to talk for a good six months. My life would have taken an entirely different route had she only been there awaiting me by the bus. I literally would be a different person now. The crowd I got into from that fateful day onwards truly took me places I never even knew existed.
Certain things exude an appeal and have this air of value, my luggage for instance or those parcels and my friend. Over time everything is subject to change I guess. One day I may even consider it to be a day well spent holding the line. Good to know some things do not change. Actually, Mikha, you know, had you not ignored me I would have probably never gone down that pit yet would have never gotten to know that Saviour who got me out of it. Thanks girl for being there for me by not being there for me, wait, one minute, hold the line please.