Last Call

My things are mostly packed now, and my taxi is booked. Its getting to be that time.

Last night I had what I suppose was my sendoff dinner with Zora's flat. It was the last time that I was guaranteed to see them all in one place. We went to a Wetherspoon's, which seems to be the UK equivalent of the Applebee's chain of restaurants back home. T.C. bought me a cider, which though not a gigantic gesture was still huge in my book. We didn't all leave the place as one, and the way we all peeled off at our own pace reminded me a little of our singing"Leave her Johnny, leave her" on the Bobbie C. It was impossible not to draw connections and keep the faint trails of that song's chorus from playing in the back of my head.

Most of my flat seems to have disappeared though I know they haven't actually checked out of their room. There's no food in the fridge and no noise or movement in the hall. I've sent them each my contact info and hope to get the same in return from them at some point. We didn't mesh well, but I'd still like to keep in touch beyond Facebook.

Today was all about bad news. Aside from getting some more shopping done, and that the Flyer's won their game last night, it was just a complete disaster. First, Matt's train was delayed in Germany so he missed his flight to come see me. Second, all my debit and credit cards stopped working. Assorted other bits of bad news along with some mildly insulting salespeople and a ton of effort to sort everything out really sullied the day. The holes in the dinghy are at least patched well enough to get me home, though Matt not getting to come for today and tomorrow really stinks. I could use his company and it would've been really amazing hanging with him and getting to play tour guide. I miss the guy, and it'll be awhile till I see him in August. His really rough weeks are coming up soon so hopefully I'll be able to offer at least a little support from home.

The best part of today was an interesting event brought about by the Betty shirt, which I'm wearing today. I was walking past the North Star pub, which is just a bit further up North Road than Talybont Court, when out of the kitchen comes the chef (or a sous-chef, I really couldn't tell you). He kept stride with me for a second, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye he was looking intently at my shirt. After a minute I realized he was talking to me so I took my headphones off and asked him to repeat himself. He asked me if it was me on the shirt. I said no, it was a friend and we'd been wearing the shirt on our travels, taking Steve along with us. He apparently had noticed the Colgate logo on Steve's hat in the photo, and as he'd heard the school's name he asked where it was and how demanding it was etc. He immediately asked if I was Saudi, and based on his accent he might have been from the north of Africa, though that's the best guess I have. In his defense I need a shave and look a little rundown, so my complexion is a bit darkened. I explained I was from New York state, he assuming I meant I was from the city. He didn't wait for me to explain that I wasn't, and said he thought the idea of the shirt was "wicked", and then said good bye. I stopped at my goal the atm nearby, and received a salute from him as he made his way back from the little Tesco, Powerade in hand. I ended up following his lead since I was in need of the hydration. The extra fluids and electrolytes were a nice treat, especially just out of the cooler.