...or similarly obnoxious airport irritants. Am currently at Stansted... 5 hours prior to my flight's departure with a strong headache and a large cup of hot chocolate. Probably not beneficial, but I can't be arsed to care at this particular juncture. Correction: hot mud. No taste of chocolate, and rather powdery texture. Had to brave Large Man Hanging Jacket On Stool and Italian Neighbor Who Needs Much Leg Room in order to get 2 packets of brown sugar to dump into the cup. As such, they have not succeeded in bringing the chocolate out of hiding. Have contemplated requesting that the lovely employees of Caffé Espresso deploy a search party, but fear such efforts would be in vain. According to the signs and larger-than-life advertisements, however, this is "Hot Chocolate - Italian Style." I had not been aware that Italians made hot chocolate without the presence or approval of any actual chocolate. I have, however, been corrected and shall query said Italians upon my trip to Firenze.
All in all, I feel I'm ready to leave the land of endless-legged miniskirts, though it is in favor of the land of oversized-beer. Schade. I like how every time I see the restaurant chain "O'neills", I must pause to consider whether it is pronounced "O'neels" or "O'niles". Oh Deutsch, was hast du mir getan? Oh no. British survey woman. Look busy - hurry. Perhaps another go at coaxing chocolate out via brown sugar bait? No, I'd have to pass her and then she'd ask me to answer questions. Oooh, ceiling. Concentrate. Contemplate.
Table next to me has been deserted with an almost-full glass and 3-4 open packets of sugar. Perhaps its former occupant was also trying to coax out the chocolate. Excessively Efficient Waiter just relocated the chair across from me onto my foot - a 3 inch change, but clearly my foot was in the wrong. As a foreigner, I can hardly feign awareness of proper pedi-protocol in such scenarios. As an obstinate American, however, I relocated my foot to its original location, displacing the overly-assertive chair. Awaiting the move of Excessively Efficient Waiter.
...
Well, my attempts at a nap in the quieter section of the airport were thwarted by 2 slovakians and a MachineGunCackleress, all of whom had decided to play a do-you-know-this-word game in German and English, every round followed by a hearty round of MGC from the blonde. Head pounding and nap clearly out of the question, I relocated. Am still hours too early to check in for my flight (3 hours to take-off), I find myself in a mass of chairs, luggage, and passengers in the lobby (if you can call it that) of the airport. Want quiet. Want shower. Want bed, and want advil. I wouldn't turn down my computer or a round of ice cream, either. Shall I pass the time by burning my mouth out with some habanero beef jerky? Oh, I think I shall.
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