Welcome Back!

After my initial welcome back to New Zealand by an idiot machine/person combo (story below), I tried; I really did. I hid out in my house. I barely talked to anyone, afraid that because I was sad, one insensitive New Zealander could send me right over the edge into raving lunatic, insane, mean and cold hearted. But after the construction crews woke me at 0615 this morning with their friendly hammering and the alarm clock from hell (the beeping of a TINY little digger going backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, back, no… forw, no… back, no.. for…) I had plenty of time to think and I began to justify my bad behavior (lack of sleep often has this effect). Let me explain:

It all started when Amelia and I stumbled off the last plane of our 30 hour trip and had to wait an hour and a half for Alan to get off work to pick us up. We wandered, we peed, we talked to the very rude lady at the information desk, who has apparently let the authority of the information desk go to her head. I am not sure if she has always hated foreigners or if she just hates foreigners at the airport (someone should really have told her in her interview that the airport has a surprising number of foreigners) or if she is just filling in for her information and foreigner loving friend who went on her own vacation via the airport. Either way, you should know not to ask her, in your sleep deprived stupor, if there used to be a door behind her (there was about 6 months ago). This will make her angry and she will have a temper tantrum about you needing to go out door eight, even though you don’t actually want to go out any doors because you are waiting for someone. Which is why you were asking about the door, because you were trying to figure out the best place to wait for someone who forgot their cell phone and therefore you have no way of actually connecting. (She will admit to there being a door in the middle of the tirade but a “LONG TIME AGO”.)

Then Al came. I greeted him with a glare reserved for kidnappers (because clearly that is what he has done, kidnapped me, otherwise why would I be in the country with the mean information lady). He says “do you feel ok to drive?” To which I respond by stopping in the middle of the parking lot and gaping at him “…be…be…because I need to go pay for parking so maybe you could just drive up and pick me up so it doesn’t charge us more because it took us so long to get out after I paid.” He tries. To which I respond somewhere in the vocal range of my nine year old “YOU HAVEN’T PAID???? JUST GO PAY!!!” He starts running away from me now. I am not sure why. Then a man comes over to me and says Al is going the wrong way; he has to pay back at the airport to which I respond by screaming Al’s name. Then this guy suddenly looks frightened and runs away from me too, for some reason, shouting over his shoulder “Oh I think I see a pay sign over there too! I think he is ok! I think he is ok! I think he is ok!” I do not say thank you.

Al makes it back to the car and we pull out and suddenly find ourselves in a 6 way traffic jam in the parking lot with one exit. Now this parking lot charges 4 dollars per ten minutes. And after you pay you have like 30 seconds to get out of the parking lot (which is why AL wanted me to get him in the first place) He is freaking out. I tell him, “Cut it out! They can clearly see we are trapped in the parking lot and will make adjustments accordingly!” Of course it gets worse. People keep pulling up to the little box and sitting there for ten minutes each. Some of them actually back up and re park (we assume they forgot to pay). When we get to the thingy it says we can’t get out until we pay 6 dollars. Alan pushes the intercom where we are privileged to overhear the conversation of the intercom person with someone else. Al keeps saying, “Hello… HELLO?” she keeps talking to someone else. Then he starts yelling “JUST LET US OUT!” To which she responds “You have to pay.” To which he responds “I HAVE paid!” We have all PAID we have just been stuck in your parking lot SINCE we paid!” Now a lovely lady who is about 75 comes to check on us and decides to try and manually lift the arm: she is unsuccessful.  Now other people are out of their cars and we are all screaming at the intercom lady, who finally lets us out.

I have some time to think on the drive home about my behavior and I decide I should really just stay away from all people until I can control myself and not scream in parking lots. But… it was Al’s birthday, so we had to do something… since I didn’t get him a gift or anything (I did try but not very hard). We go to this place that is trying to be American (but is not) and it is fine, although, apparently joking with the waiter is frowned upon. And then it happens. I ask if they will be showing the Super Bowl and he says “Yes! On that huge screen over there.” Alan’s and my eyes grow big with the shininess of the screen and we debate about whether it would be worth it to come and watch it there. Then the other waiter has the audacity to say that it is not a real sport because of the, I don’t know, short playing time or something. Alan wisely laughs loudly to cover my “Oh THAT’S how it’s GONNA BE?” and steers me out of the café before I break something on his face. But I have the blog so I will have my say now. I live in this country. I see how crazy you go for sport and, just to be clear, playing longer doesn’t make it a real sport either. I mean just because a game lasts five days and they stand around for most of it, does not make it a sport. And really, if someone brings you a cup of tea and sliced oranges in THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME you have to wonder. Am I playing a professional sport? And I TRIED to watch cricket; I really did, but NOTHING HAPPENED. So my body kept thinking I had dragged it outside to nap in the sun, in the country with no ozone layer, which it thought was stupid so it started moaning.

However, I manage to keep this little annoyance to myself when people around me talk about cricket. I nod and smile and look excited for them or sad if their team somehow lost (I still don’t know how that happens after days of playing they just stop and someone loses…???) Anyway, I manage to keep my mouth shut and then this yahoo has the gall to tell me that football is not a real sport. Look, I am not the biggest football fan in the world but the last time the Broncos went to the Superbowl was 1999. And football is home, endless Sundays sitting on my parent’s couch while my dad freaks out (actually wringing his hands!!! I love it!) all the while cheating on our eternal diets.  It is a ritual. It is tradition. And the Superbowl is the funnest of it all. Even the commercials are fun to watch. So why … why can’t you just let us have our fun? We never claimed it was the greatest sport in the world. So why can’t you just leave me alone. I am homesick and trying to have a little piece of home with me half way around the world. Why do you all have to be so mean? As punishment I was going to have a big Superbowl party at my house and invite everybody but instead we are only having people who can appreciate the game or at least respect how much the game means to us… So yes… the only people coming are my cousin and her kids… BUT we will wear our shirts with pride, scream at every first down and yell IN-COM-PLETE when the Seahawks drop the ball and we will eat yummy food without you haters and let me tell you, I can make some yummy food!

So thanks for the warm welcome back New Zealand and GO BRONCOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(p.s. sorry… I told you I was mean when I get back…)