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Thursday, July 25, 2013

Near-Death in Mexico City, Part 5

Click here to go back to Part 4

Her side, still:

It was my turn to lose my cool, which almost never happens.

“It happened! We were there. The power--and, and-- emergency exits!  And-- and-- The Bobs! The Bobs were there! There were at least thirteen emergency vehicles when we arrived. I counted!” I was now pointing frantically toward the wall of glass windows that looked out to the tarmac and speaking to the whole line of agents at their desks.

Things were getting very sci-fi, very quickly.

I had seen the previews for a movie where something similar had happened. Pieces of this lady’s life were just disappearing as if they’d never happened. People were vanishing from the framed photos on her end-table left and right. The movie had looked too eerie to watch, and now the premise was my reality.

“I don’t know anything about this, do you?” the agent asked the others. They shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders.

“Could you please check again? Call someone, maybe?” Russ asked calmly. How could he be so composed? This was much more upsetting than the mean lady in the customs line.

After a few minutes, she placed the phone receiver back in the cradle and printed out two tickets for an early morning flight the following day.

We set off in search of the skybridge to the hotel.

The lobby was packed with people from our flight. Even the Bobs were still there, waiting. After an eternity, they gave us our room key and we went upstairs.

The room was disgusting and smoky.  It seemed futile to request a change since we would only be there for six hours, anyway.

We went down to the lobby and bar area. I can’t remember if we ate or drank our dinner. Some of the people from our flight were still in line, waiting for a room. I wanted to offer them ours.  

Russ told me to hush and he ordered us another round.

We didn’t drink enough, though, because I was still thoroughly grossed-out when we returned to our room a few hours later.

My plan was to position myself on top of the still-made bed with my sweatshirt draped over the pillow as a barrier to the germs.  When I remembered what Rebecca had once told me about sheets being washed nightly compared to comforters being washed less frequently, I changed my mind and decided to sleep on top of the bare sheets.

Shoes, too.

Russ said I was overreacting. Can you believe it?
After the way he’d behaved in the customs line?

Me. Overreacting.



  1. Courtney, I have actually gone out to buy a new set of sheets in a similar situation. I am right there with you.

  2. I am SO glad to know this since Russ seems to think you are the Goddess of Practicality. (I think it had something to do with the rosebush incident... oh, I am totally going to write about that!)

    Maybe now that he knows you feel this way, I will finally be allowed to bring our own sheets when we stay at hotels!