Hong Kong Flight

You know that feeling you get when you find an old box under your bed? It's got ticket stubs and little trinkets from when you were in junior high? It's a flood of nostalgia all coming back.

Well today, I plugged in an old jump drive. I think I used it back in college when I lived at the dorms and needed to take a jump drive to the campus printer. The Costco Photo Center website is down, so today I've "found the old box under the bed" and have been going through some files. I found a folder that has all of my favorite papers I wrote from high school. One of my favorite classes was AP Language, the class where I learned to write, and lucky for me, got to choose most of my topics. In hindsight, I treated that class and the writing opportunities a lot like a blog.

So I think I'll start posting a few of these high school stories. This one was written September 27, 2005 and has become a source for many jokes in my family.

Hong Kong Flight

I should not have eaten the white sausage.  Especially, two pieces of white sausage. Once again, my curiosity had gotten the best of me and my stomach was not a fan.  Perhaps it was out of boredom, a ten hour flight with your family, on a Chinese airline, squished in the middle seat; I guess I can understand why I was so interested when the flight attendant came around again, this time with breakfast- well if you can call it that.  

Airplane food is bad, and this breakfast was no exception.  My family decided to just eat things that were individually wrapped.  But, me being the family carnivore, when I see meat, I devour, no matter what setting I am in and surprisingly whatever shade it happens to be.  On this trip, I helped my sister out by eating the sausage from her breakfast tray.  I thought it tasted fine.  Maybe I was going insane after being on a plane for too long, yet it wasn’t all that bad.  It could have been my hunger or my desire to fit in with the Chinese culture and try everything that Hong Kong had to offer. 

Nevertheless, I did eat it. 

As we landed at the Hong Kong International Airport, I was giddy with excitement.  I had always dreamed of going to this island and I was finally making it a reality.  As the plane door opened we gathered our many belongings, now scattered throughout the plane.  My mom wanted us to take plenty of activities in case of boredom.  We walked out of the terminal, to the baggage claim and met a man holding a sign that said “Snyder”.  We all thought it was the coolest thing ever, just like the movies.  He helped us into our private shuttle to go across the city to Queensway and our hotel.  The drive was magnificent. We all glued our heads to the window and examined all the technology, greenery, cars, people, shops, and lifestyle.  Our driver was also exciting.  He twisted through the busy streets and sped past pedestrians. His bumpy and windy ways were not helpful to the sausage; now in the digestive stage. I am not sure how you get a drivers license in HK, but I’m sure he barely passed the test, which added to the adventure. 

As we drove up Pacific Place, we stood in awe at the towering JW Marriott.  We got our rooms and explored the place.  It was the nicest hotel I had ever seen.  The bathroom was huge with all the right little gadgets, the cabinets were made of the finest wood, the little treats waiting on the table looked excellent, and most attractive was the duvet -covered bed.  My body had not yet adjusted to the new time zone and consequently I experienced some jetlag. We chatted for a bit, and then said “Adieu” and leaped into the covers.  I don’t think I have ever been so tired, yet so alive and ecstatic at the same time.  When my head hit the feather light pillows, I was a goner.  To my alarm I woke up shortly after I had gotten into a stage four sleep cycle.  My stomach groaned, my face went pale, my body went into cold perspiration, and I felt like I was going to pass out.  Due to prior experience, I know what this meant for me. I sauntered dizzily out of bed and reached for the trash canister. And… there went the sausage.  The first thing I thought was, “Melissa! Why did you have to give me the second piece?!”  By this time my siblings were awake and disgusted, but ever so glad that I had found the trash can in time.  When I told my mom what had happened, she was a bit upset that I had scraped my tray clean on the flight, because I guess I didn’t get her memo that said to only eat the packaged food.  So here I am losing my stomach at a five star hotel in the heart of uptown HK.  And all my dad could say was, “Welcome to Asia.”

Update: My mom read this post yesterday and wanted to remind me that I, in fact, did NOT make it to the trash can. We had to have a cleaning crew come and clean the carpet. Oops! I must have selective memory. :)


emily snyder said...

Haha! The blessed sausage story!!! Brilliant!

melimba said...

Gah! The infamous white sausage story! Great writing! Terrible experience! :)