My first hour back in the United States was glorious. After spending over 1/2 a year overseas, I learned to appreciate the smaller, more simple things about life. For example- 3 ply toilet paper, orange juice at any moment in the day, Dunkin Donuts coffee, alcohol, something other-than-chicken for every meal...you get my jist. I was excited beyond words as I walked down the brow in a complete daze, leaving the ship far behind me. Had there not been a crowd of hundreds of families, plus several news cameras, I probably would have done a little dance mixed in with obscene hand gestures. However, I maintained my bearing and simply walked down the pier towards the parking lot. As I walked, all these people were smiling, crying, wildly waving their marker and glitter covered posters, waving little American flags, and shouting "thank you!" and "welcome home!" It was surreal. At some point before I got to the end of the pier, I started to have an out of body experience. I turned and looked up at the ship, my home for last year, and felt like I was doing something wrong by leaving. however...since my 'give-a-shit' fell overboard back in May, I just kept walking. That brief flash of guilt was washed away knowing I would be in my cozy apartment in less than an hour.
What I was not ready for was the stellar event that was coming at me- my first trip to McDonalds since April. Ok, let's rephrase that. I was ready- but McDonalds was not. After discovering that my phone would call anyone OTHER than my ride home, I borrowed a phone and told him to meet me at McDonalds. I cheerfully repositioned my belongings and began my victory march toward those golden arches. Through the parkinglot I strode, briskly weaving in between cars, beaming my plastered-on-smile. As I walked up the steps, I could almost smell the coffee and taste the biscuits. I went in, dropped my things, and got in line. Much to my horror, the cashier flipped the menu and announced that breakfast was over. No juice, no buttery biscuits with eggs and cheese, no hashbrowns in a grease soaked wrapper. Suffice to say, I was crushed. Quickly, I thought that I'd be ok with a burger, fries, and coke. At least it wasn't chicken. Another line opened up, and I stepped over to place my order for a high-calorie-yet-much-missed-American staple meal. Unfortunately an older, round couple made it to the counter first. Yes, they were round and clearly fast food was a staple of their large existence. No big deal, or so I thought. My dreams of a quick snack while waiting were slowly destroyed as the woman placed an order for at least 10 meals, all with specific instructions that resembled Meg Ryan's character out of "When Harry Met Sally". During that time, as my rage built up, I realized that McDonalds was out of soda and only had blue powerade and water to drink. Blue powerade will never enter my body again. Not after a 12 week diet of it at one point in my life. This was it. Before I screamed at the woman and ordered her into the galley to make the fucking food herself, I walked away. I had to. My rage was about to spill over and she would be the lucky recipient of a bountiful helping. I gave up and just stifled my hunger induced rage to go sit down and wait for the roommate. We will now refer to him as RM. Finally he showed up and the one thing that salvaged my day was not the sight of someone familiar, it was driving his brand spanking new Mercedes complete with seat heaters all the way home.
Yay America!
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