So I finally spoke with someone at Alitalia. I'm going to take many pictures from many angles of my mangled suitcase and send it with a barrage of paperwork and a mature but scathing letter so that hopefully they will compensate me for my heartache, my lost undergarments, and most of all, that fabulous pair of Enzo Angiolini satin heels that were split up.
And thanks to my friend Lauren, another survey to bring some levity:
1. What are your siblings middle names?Richard
2. Where is your dad right now? in Slidell
3. What was the last thing you said? Take care, bye!
4. What is something you've learned about yourself recently? I'm not lactose intolerant in Italy
5. What color is your watch? stainless steel Timex
6. What do you think of when you think of Australia? my friend Emily
7. When was the last time you squatted to pee? in the Cafe Grand Italia
8. Who is the last person you liked? as in a new person? my friend Beth
9. Are you close to your mom? yep
10. Where does your best friend work? at Eatel in Gonzales
11. What is your least attractive feature? my feet are huge, but actually quite attractive. least attractive feature? I'll say my sarcasm.
12. How old were you when you started wearing a bra? 10, and I hated every moment of it
13. What color are your pants? black
14. Do you have a roommate? husband and dog
15. What color is your bedroom flooring? hardwood in every room
16. Do you have a chair in your room? nope
17. What time were you born? 12:57pm, I think....
18. Do you know anyone who is engaged? yes
19. What's your favorite number? 7
20. Do you know anyone named Laurie? my nephew's girlfriend
21. What color is your mom's hair? dark brown
22. Do you have a dog?yes, Sam
23. Where did you live in 1987? Slidell
24. What happened to you in 1993? I started high school and got kissed by a really cute guy, in that order
25. Does your first memory involve your dad? nope
26. Do you remember singing any songs as kids? James Taylor and ABBA
27. When was the last time you went swimming? don't remember
28. Has your luggage ever gotten lost? luggage is a sore subject with me right now
29. When was the last time you talked to one of your siblings? on the phone? forever. online? yesterday
30. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? piano camp and summer camp (nerd alert!)
31. Do you play an instrument? I'm a singer, I play piano rather well, and a host of other instruments BADLY
32. Have you ever thought it would be cool to smash a guitar? what an incredible waste
33. Do you like fire? in a fireplace, yes
34. Where is your best friend from? Denham Springs
35. Are you allergic to anything? tuna, american dairy products, dust, mold, cats
36. When was the last time you cried? yesterday
37. What kind of shampoo do you use? whatever smells good
38. Have you ever been to a spa? yar
40. Did you take science all four years of high school? yar
41. Do you like butterflies? who doesn't?
42. What is the last book you read? currently reading 1000 days in Tuscany
43. Do you like Coke or Pepsi more? hands down on the Coke
44. What is one thing you miss about your past? my 16 year old arse
45. Did you ever see the school nurse? yes
46. Have you ever wanted to be a teacher? yes, tried it, hated the system. now I want to be a professor :)
48. Are you jealous of anyone? um, not in any way that's rational - I'm jealous of opera singers who get by on their looks, but that's sort of abject...
49. Is anyone jealous of you? tenors with coloratura extension envy :)
50. When was the last time you were in an elevator? three days ago
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
Week 5, why I love Coffee Crisps and why Alitalia is getting a nasty letter
The last week in Italy was a blur of performances, one of which was a musical theatre concert at an outdoor venue next to a halfway house for recovering mental patients. Read it again for the first time. I have nothing against people who are attempting to re-enter society, I just wish we had been forewarned before the onslaught of half-dressed men following us around and mumbling in Italian.
But all's well that ends well, I passed the Italian certification test, and managed to get all of my stuff into my suitcase under the weight limit, checked in on time (despite the fact that it might take an act of God and/or Interpol in order to find your terminal in under an hour) and downed a capuccino before I got on the plane with two of my girlfriends from the program. Nine hours, two meals, and two marriage proposals from flight attendants later, I landed in Toronto. Canada has always been high on my list of favorite countries. The people are polite, civilized, and they sell Coffee Crisps at every drugstore. So after I cleared Canadian customs, I went downstairs to collect my suitcase, noticing that it was getting on 3:15 and I was supposed to be on a flight to Boston at 4pm. I approach an Alitalia representative who tells me that Air Canada (who is flying me to Boston) will happily put me on the next flight out, no trouble.
And so, I wait. For half an hour, I wait for my baggage to come. At about 3:45, the big yellow light comes on that indicates the baggage is about to appear on the carousel. And then, it happens. My worst nightmare, come true, right there in Toronto. My Samsonite suitcase that has braved years in foreign countries, been dragged to Eastofnowhere and back, sat on and thrown and dragged on cobblestone streets, is wrapped up in brown tape. The zipper on the top is no longer attached to the suitcase, and the top of the bag is actually INSIDE the bag. It actually no longer resembles a square, instead, a sort of sad, bowling pin shape of a bag, the heavy duty plastic and metal frame completely bent. But at this point in time, I've been awake and traveling for close to 16 hours and I just want to get home. I speak briefly with another Alitalia rep who tells me to make my way to Air Canada and get my things sorted out with customs because otherwise I will miss my flight. So I take a bus to the other terminal with a pilot who looks at my suitcase and makes a joke about how on the days when things run slow it's because the luggage eating machine is down and they are destroying the bags by hand that day. I am not amused. The kind woman at Air Canada tells me that, even though I did not miss my 4pm flight because of carelessness, there is no such policy as the Alitalia rep stated and I will be charged for the changing of my flight to Boston. At this point, I am borderline hysterical and say in my most controlled voice, "You mean to tell me that I will have to pay for a change to a flight that I missed because Alitalia's flight from Rome came in late due to a thunderstorm, and then they shredded my luggage?"
Sidebar: In my year of living in Canada, I noticed that they are rather non-confrontational, and when presented with an hysterical American, they will do one of two things: freeze over or avert their eyes and comply. I was not hysterical (yet), but perhaps it was the deranged glint in my bloodshot eyes that gave away my altered state.
So the very nice woman at Air Canada changed my flight and sent me through to customs, where I was given several raised eyebrows about my luggage wrapped in tape, and a very nice American customs official named Paolo stamped my passport and said, "Welcome home, Emily." After two unsuccessful attempts to call my husband, I used the circa 1992 internet terminal to send him a text message, purchased six Coffee Crisps at the shop, and went to the Molson Pub. I met up with another girl from the program who also had a layover, and we ate steak and drank Rickard's Red and tried to think of more pleasant things. My flight to Boston was a little late, but very pleasant, and a nice man switched seats with me so I could have the aisle. I got home to Boston a little before 9pm, took a shower, and passed out in my bed, blissful at last.
You might think this is the end of my story, but oh no. This is just the beginning. Since this morning, I have been discovering what was stolen out of my suitcase. The list is almost a page long now, and perhaps the most injurious of all items stolen is the ONE dress shoe that remained in my bag. The ONE of TWO enzo angiolini strappy satin heels that was sitting amongst the ruin, the ONE shoe that reminded me of how long I waited for those shoes to go on clearance, and how much I love them, and then I began to notice the other items that were conspicuously absent. Like my bras. ALL OF THEM. Like my linen skirts. Like my button-down shirts and my favorite flip flops (again, only ONE was stolen, not both) and my dress pants that were the perfect length to wear with heels for auditions. And the list goes on.
I have called Alitalia twice now. Sat on hold for over 30 minutes at a time before being transferred to an answering machine, while listening to some pre-recorded voice wax lyrical about how Alitalia represents the best of the Italian nation and how they attempt to embody a people who "truly know how to live well" by serving fine wine and food on their flights, and strive to be courteous and ingratiating to all. So I am going to Linens and Things to look at hardside suitcases, having spent most of the morning fuming and foaming and doing online research about suitcases, and when I return, a calmer, saner individual, I will write the world's most eloquent scathing Miss Jean letter to Alitalia, and not only will I tell them that I want remuneration for the shopping spree that someone had in my luggage and the damage done to my otherwise sound suitcase, I want them to apologize for disgracing all of the nice people that I met in Italy who went out of their way to be helpful to a stranger in their country, because if this is customer service, then I'm the Pope.
Love to all, it's good to be home, pardon the explosion of bile.
But all's well that ends well, I passed the Italian certification test, and managed to get all of my stuff into my suitcase under the weight limit, checked in on time (despite the fact that it might take an act of God and/or Interpol in order to find your terminal in under an hour) and downed a capuccino before I got on the plane with two of my girlfriends from the program. Nine hours, two meals, and two marriage proposals from flight attendants later, I landed in Toronto. Canada has always been high on my list of favorite countries. The people are polite, civilized, and they sell Coffee Crisps at every drugstore. So after I cleared Canadian customs, I went downstairs to collect my suitcase, noticing that it was getting on 3:15 and I was supposed to be on a flight to Boston at 4pm. I approach an Alitalia representative who tells me that Air Canada (who is flying me to Boston) will happily put me on the next flight out, no trouble.
And so, I wait. For half an hour, I wait for my baggage to come. At about 3:45, the big yellow light comes on that indicates the baggage is about to appear on the carousel. And then, it happens. My worst nightmare, come true, right there in Toronto. My Samsonite suitcase that has braved years in foreign countries, been dragged to Eastofnowhere and back, sat on and thrown and dragged on cobblestone streets, is wrapped up in brown tape. The zipper on the top is no longer attached to the suitcase, and the top of the bag is actually INSIDE the bag. It actually no longer resembles a square, instead, a sort of sad, bowling pin shape of a bag, the heavy duty plastic and metal frame completely bent. But at this point in time, I've been awake and traveling for close to 16 hours and I just want to get home. I speak briefly with another Alitalia rep who tells me to make my way to Air Canada and get my things sorted out with customs because otherwise I will miss my flight. So I take a bus to the other terminal with a pilot who looks at my suitcase and makes a joke about how on the days when things run slow it's because the luggage eating machine is down and they are destroying the bags by hand that day. I am not amused. The kind woman at Air Canada tells me that, even though I did not miss my 4pm flight because of carelessness, there is no such policy as the Alitalia rep stated and I will be charged for the changing of my flight to Boston. At this point, I am borderline hysterical and say in my most controlled voice, "You mean to tell me that I will have to pay for a change to a flight that I missed because Alitalia's flight from Rome came in late due to a thunderstorm, and then they shredded my luggage?"
Sidebar: In my year of living in Canada, I noticed that they are rather non-confrontational, and when presented with an hysterical American, they will do one of two things: freeze over or avert their eyes and comply. I was not hysterical (yet), but perhaps it was the deranged glint in my bloodshot eyes that gave away my altered state.
So the very nice woman at Air Canada changed my flight and sent me through to customs, where I was given several raised eyebrows about my luggage wrapped in tape, and a very nice American customs official named Paolo stamped my passport and said, "Welcome home, Emily." After two unsuccessful attempts to call my husband, I used the circa 1992 internet terminal to send him a text message, purchased six Coffee Crisps at the shop, and went to the Molson Pub. I met up with another girl from the program who also had a layover, and we ate steak and drank Rickard's Red and tried to think of more pleasant things. My flight to Boston was a little late, but very pleasant, and a nice man switched seats with me so I could have the aisle. I got home to Boston a little before 9pm, took a shower, and passed out in my bed, blissful at last.
You might think this is the end of my story, but oh no. This is just the beginning. Since this morning, I have been discovering what was stolen out of my suitcase. The list is almost a page long now, and perhaps the most injurious of all items stolen is the ONE dress shoe that remained in my bag. The ONE of TWO enzo angiolini strappy satin heels that was sitting amongst the ruin, the ONE shoe that reminded me of how long I waited for those shoes to go on clearance, and how much I love them, and then I began to notice the other items that were conspicuously absent. Like my bras. ALL OF THEM. Like my linen skirts. Like my button-down shirts and my favorite flip flops (again, only ONE was stolen, not both) and my dress pants that were the perfect length to wear with heels for auditions. And the list goes on.
I have called Alitalia twice now. Sat on hold for over 30 minutes at a time before being transferred to an answering machine, while listening to some pre-recorded voice wax lyrical about how Alitalia represents the best of the Italian nation and how they attempt to embody a people who "truly know how to live well" by serving fine wine and food on their flights, and strive to be courteous and ingratiating to all. So I am going to Linens and Things to look at hardside suitcases, having spent most of the morning fuming and foaming and doing online research about suitcases, and when I return, a calmer, saner individual, I will write the world's most eloquent scathing Miss Jean letter to Alitalia, and not only will I tell them that I want remuneration for the shopping spree that someone had in my luggage and the damage done to my otherwise sound suitcase, I want them to apologize for disgracing all of the nice people that I met in Italy who went out of their way to be helpful to a stranger in their country, because if this is customer service, then I'm the Pope.
Love to all, it's good to be home, pardon the explosion of bile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)