God Save the Queen

I had a bad feeling about this flight ... to start with. 1h10 minutes to get my connection flight in Dallas was not enough and i knew it. I just KNEW it. They can say whatever they want to try to quiet me down, 70 minutes is not enough and period. The guy at the check-in counter told me: "don't worry, going through immigration in Dallas will take you 45 minutes at the most". Yeah, right, like how many time have you been to Dallas Mr Know-it-all? I have more stamps of Dallas airport in my passport than anybody here. So trust me, i KNOOOOOW, it is so not happening in 45 minutes.

The funny thing about having bad feelings about stuff is that you tend to see signs everywhere. So commercials of the LATE night show WAS a clear sign. I honestly felt nauseous the entire flight, with a pounding headache that a screaming kid surely didn't help (just helped me realized that duck tape is a necessary item to travel with on long courrier flights).
We actually arrived early and for that they told us that we will be taking a BUS to get to the terminal. There you go for another squillion shots of adrenaline in my veins (but not the good one, more like the kind that make you feel positively SICK).
Getting off the plane, walking in the alley, was an oooooold lady taking forever. I honestly foresaw the moment i would kick her aside to pass her - like the entire universe is standing on my path to make me late and miss my flight. So after a few moments that felt like a million years, the fossile decided to park her old self on the side and i ran like i've never ran before. Like my life was hanging to a string (ok, maybe not my life but my sanity and my nerves were definitely hanging to a pretty damn thin string). When i got to the immigration hall, i almost died of a heart attack on the spot - guess it would have been pretty messy you know, i am not officially in the US but not really in Mexico either, a french citizen, yeah, that would have been quite a mess. So trying to recover from the heart attack i so nearly had, i went straight to this i-look-official lady to whom i said, i have a really really short connexion and a flight leaving in 30 minutes, is there anything i can do to go through here quicker? I guess i wasnt agressive enough; or dramatic enough, or scary enough cuz she looked at me from her meter and a half height with such a disgusted look on her face and pointed me to the end of the queue where everybody is waiting to pass in front of an immigration officer. And i was the very last person of a snaky-looking queue of 300 meters long. Which means 3 things: a) i have around 400 people IN FRONT of me, b) i am going to stand in line for around 2 hours and most important c) i am missing my flight A HUEVO.

Since missing my flight was definitely NOT an option, i asked out loud if people could let me pass in front of them and they all looked at me as if i was asking the craziest stuff ever, some of them turning their head for fear of me being contagious or something, others looking at me like i was seriously losing it and others pretending not to speak english. I then decided to ask people one by one, you know, like a more personal question. One woman was so nasty to me i thought she was going to spit at me :o Bitch!! (and yes i said it). So after 27 people, yes TWENTY SEVEN people, this guy told me, yes sure, go ahead. I swear i almost kissed him. I dont know his name, i just know he had a striped polo shirt, that he was an english guy working in Singapore. I told him i'd pay him a beer if i got the chance. Just before i got to the immigration window, he even told me he'd been standing in line 1h45!!!
As soon as i got my stamp, i shouted at him (he was at the next counter): thank you soooo much, mr english guy, you saved my day!

It was 8 minutes before my flight.

I ran like mad again and then fuck fuck fuck, another 100 meters line ahead for customs this time. Damn it ! Ran straight to the beginning of the line and i dont know why people there where so much nicer than in the immigration hall, they all told me - but i mean ALL of them - go ahead, pass in front of me, run, run, ruuuuun! Even the custom dude told me to rush i could still make it.
That's when i found myself in front of this massive screen with all the departures listed. Had a quick glance to check what gate i was supposed to be rushing to ...

3 minutes before my flight ...

That's when i read the word that so many people hate with all their soul, me included. Except that this time, that was the most beautiful 7 leters i ever get to read in my whole life... On the screen could be read the word: DELAYED.
Not a 5 minutes delay, not a 15 minutes delay, no, no ... a 40 minutes delay. I almost had an orgasm on the spot. I did exactly like a sportsman does when he wins an important or a tough point, i looked in the screens eyes with my fist in the air and screamed Yeeees! Yes! Yes! Yes!
Ran the last flight of stairs, got through yet another check point - the one you take off your shoes - and slushed myself in the closest seat available, right across the hall in front of gate D23 where my favorite words of the day were glowing in red ... delayed ... Sounded like music to my ears.
It was 2 minutes passed my original flying time.
"45 minutes through immigration and customs" MY ASS.

Since somehow faith didnt think it was enough for my now extremely fragile nerves, my name was called on the mic - the first thing that came to my mind was like: they are not taking me on this flight (in which case i would have most probably either killed someone or hara-kirryed myself right in front of gate D23) - but no, it was just to check if i was there. Yes mam i'm here. I didnt see it necessary to enter in details ...

Once on board (we actually departed 1h30 minute late, people were bitching and i was just smiling like a complete idiot), the pilot apologized and explained that there has been a change of plane at the last minute and this one that we were in was coming from London and got in late. London? Did he say London? Holy crap, this is the second time the UK is saving my ass today. Coincidence? Mmmm. Is that yet another sign? Fuck men, screw them all, it's obvious that England is calling me ... jajaja.
Faith was my friend again on board when they served lasagna for dinner and warm croissants for breakfast ... But it's oh so well known that life can be a complete bitch. The second we land, it was a mess all over again. Got bus-ed to the terminal and i got called again on the mic the second i stepped in the luggage claim room. Bollocks, for sure my suitcases are still in Dallas. Well, no, only one of them. First time i ever take TWO suitcases and only ONE arrives. Oh well, what can i do? My consolation is that the one that did arrive is the one with the fresh chiles inside! Oh yeah, i sneaked illegal stuff through customs in 3 countries ... I rule!

It's been 2 days now ... still no suitcase though :s
Bastards ... must be the english!