The red lights of the plane’s wing were slowly flashing against the night’s sky as I stared out the window of my flight that was scheduled to leave hours earlier. I suppose I should’ve been happy that my flight had even reached the tarmac considering SeaTac was shut down the week previous. It was my first time leaving the country and truth be told I wasn’t nervous, maybe this was the first problem.
By the time my flight left Seattle I was hours late, putting me barely on time to my next flight from Copenhagen to London Heathrow. I had checked one bag and kept the necessities (laptop, make-up, deodorant) in my carry-on and I was told to not worry. I landed in LHR, and just as my departure was unexpectedly dark, so was my arrival. First step: locate baggage. Second step: figure out why on earth my name is being called across the loud speaker.
Turns out my baggage never actually accompanied me on my flight out of Seattle. At this point it is pitch black out, my “international” cell phone picked up no signal, and my baggage would not be arriving for five days, making me miss my next flight in three days to Dublin. I am breaking, no extra clothes, no cell phone, it’s nighttime, and I don’t have a clue. I find my way to the tube crying silently, only to realize that I can’t see a thing making finding my hostel an formidable task.