We have arrived in England.
August 23rd, 1998 by Jim Clark
I awoke yesterday morning with a bit of anxiety, as I had had the night before. We were about to take a twelve-hour flight on our first trip to England and we hadn’t even packed our bags yet. Leave it to us to wait until the last goddamned minute.
Tensions were running a bit high as we got our things together. Lisa was relatively calm, but I was somewhat panicky as I threw my clothes into my suitcase like a madman, wadding my shirts and shorts into little balls and trying not to break the zipper on the suitcase as I cursed it and demanded that it close.
The drive to the airport was smooth, with little traffic to slow us down, and we arrived at Wally World, or Wally Park or whatever the hell it’s called, the long-term parking joint, with plenty of time to spare. At the airport I exchanged $100 for 60 pounds, and the guy in line behind me at the exchange booth offered me his advice regarding where to keep my money. “Put most of it in one pocket, dude,” he said, “and keep just a few bills in the other pocket. That way, when you get rolled, you can reach into the pocket with the small bills and go, here man, here’s all my money, and still have a lot left over.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied nonchalantly. “That’s how I do it when I buy drugs, it works every time.”
He gave me the ‘thumbs up’ sign as a farewell gesture, and Lisa and I went over to the restaurant at LAX called ENCOUNTERS. I don’t quite know what to think about that place. It’s pretty weird. We took an elevator to the top (there was strange lounge music and purple lighting in the elevator) and took an uncomfortable seat at a tiny table. The hostess seated us with: “Have a nice encounter!”
Twenty minutes later we finally “encountered” our waiter and ordered a couple of steaks (the only item on the menu that wasn’t slathered in vinegar). The meat was *incredibly* spicy, and Lisa could only take a few bites. As for me, I love spicy food and had my portions as well as hers. But it still wasn’t worth sixty goddamned dollars. We looked around and noticed that most of the people at the other tables were just sort of staring at their plates and nobody was really eating. I don’t think anyone was particularly enjoying their food.
The flight was long and fairly uneventful. I watched a movie on the little TV screen in the back of the seat in front of me (those things are frigging cool!) and slept the rest of the way. I guess there were no bombs on board.
We were greeted at Heathrow by our driver, Kevin, who took us to our hotel in London. We didn’t have to stop at customs or anything like that (all that money for plane fare and not one cavity search! what a gyp). When we arrived at the Sloane Hotel I tipped the guy five pounds. I have no idea what I’m supposed to tip here, if anything, and I can’t quite get the hang of this whole converting-dollars-to-pounds thing. Spare me the math, please. The hotel room is nice — lots of antiques, and very cozy. I think antique furniture is nice looking, but this chair and table are wobbling as I write. I guess that means they’re expensive. It’s raining out right now, and I only brought shorts and two pairs of long pants. Moron. I’m going to have to go shopping. Bah. $$$$$
