Fifty Shades of Miscommunication

Once again, I find myself profusely apologizing for failing to keep the world updated on my shenanigans in the last couple of months. Lots of things have happened since then, including a vacation (from vacation) to Thailand and an eventful month-long road trip down the entire east coast of Australia with my friends Kat and Eloise. To answer some FAQs that I’m sure this brief update has evoked:

--“Ashley, how was Thailand?”: Awesome.*

--“Ashley, how was your road trip?” Epic. **

*Don’t inquire about ping pong shows.

**Especially don’t inquire about the rental van that I drove into a pole with. Or the $2500 security deposit. Too soon.

Alright, as I’m sure that these terse and smart-assed descriptions are a tease, I promise that I’ll make a solid effort to let the world know what kind of trouble I was able to get into in 2 different continents last month.

Now, back to the topic at hand: because this particular day of the week ended in a “Y”, something ridiculous and humorous happened in my life…yet again. To help lay out the roadwork for this, I’ll present you humbly with 2 facts:

1)   Melbourne has 2 airports.

2)   Swedes don’t know this. Or, at least one Swede in particular.

Cue Lina Haglund. Some of you may remember this name, which has cropped up many a time in my saga this past year. For those who don’t know, we bought a car together, were homeless at Ikea together no thanks to that scoundrel car we bought together, worked at a nudist resort together (SHOUT OUT TO JOHANNA!). We go way back. After parting ways for 5 months to seek gainful employment, we’re getting the band back together and reuniting for the duration of my travels in Australia and our Indonesia/Southeast Asia adventure that will kick off in a month’s time.

SO, I’ve been in Melbourne for a while, and I’m back at one of my old stomping grounds an hour north of the city, where I’m going to be wwoofing for the lovely Kate and Emmy MacRae again until my globe-trotting family arrives next week! Lina has been planning to join me in this endeavour, and when she arrived on Thursday night I drove from Kate and Emmy’s to pick her up from the airport. When she and I had been talking about her flight details (what time she got in, which airline she was flying with, etc), I was clearly following the code of Aviation Fight Club:

Rule #1: You do not talk about the 2 different Melbourne airports.

Rule #2: You DO NOT talk about the 2 different Melbourne airports.

            Well, check (g’day) mate. After finding my way to the airport without any use of technology whatsoever (ok so I used Google Maps and then made a rough sketch in lieu of having a printer, sue me), I make my way towards the 1-minute pick up area at the perfect time. Since the arrival area is pretty busy, I decide it would just be the best and most efficient use of my allotted 60 seconds to call her and tell her exactly where I am. The following conversation ensued:

            Lina: Hey! I’m here, I’m outside waiting in the pick up area.

            Me: Awesome, I’m here too! Where abouts are you, I’m in the 1-minute pick up lane, directly outside of Terminal 2.

            Lina: Huh?

            Me: …I’m just in the pick up area. Where are you now, can you see a terminal number?

            Lina: The sign says I’m at gate 6.

            Me: …can you see the Park Royal Hotel, which the waiting area is in front of…?

            Lina: Oh shit.

            Me: Lina, what airport did you fly into?

            Lina: Avalon…is…is there more than one airport in Melbourne?

            Me: Lina, I’m at Tullamarine. And yes.

            Yes, she had in fact flown into the airport that was a good hour drive away, not to mention through the Melbourne city traffic of which I have a crippling fear. Lots of English and Swedish swear words were uttered in the five minutes after this conversation.

            But fear not! Being the quick-thinking and strategic genius that I am (shhhhh, just give me my moment in the sun), we devise a plan: Lina hopped on a shuttle to the Melbourne train station—the last one that evening, I might add, which departed one minute from when we hung up—then hops on another shuttle to Tullamarine…because she narrowly missed the last train leaving for Kyneton, where we’re staying. Shit happens. So, hakuna matata, it’s not a big problem. I just have to wait for a little over an hour for her to get into Tullamarine where I can pick her up and chauffeur her home.

            How did I pass this hour?, you may ask yourself. Well, despite my background in the last year—a lethal combination of homelessness and nudity…(that doesn’t sound prostitutey, does it?)—I dare say that I may have exceeded my own personal definition of shame. And THIS is coming from the girl who lived by the “NO SHAME NO DIGNITY” credo, mind you. I spent my time waiting for Lina Haglund to arrive at the correct airport in a small off-the-freeway airport viewing area, parked in a Subaru, surrounded by other parked cars (of which I suspect drug deals and fornication), airplanes taking off just barely over my head, and—here comes the kicker…reading Fifty Shades of Grey with an obscenely large flashlight. Like, a floodlight. ‘Cause that’s all I was able to do to entertain myself. And please don’t allow me to forget to remind you how severely all the windows of the car fogged up in the duration of that hour on this particular Melbourne winter night.

            So there it is, my new lowest of low. Sitting by myself, in a steamed up car, in what may as well be Melbourne’s ‘make-out point,’ reading an infamous and remarkably dirty novel with a flashlight the size of a dinner plate. I high-five myself only for being able to get out of that situation without having been discovered by a curious police officer knocking on my window. That would have been a riotous call into dispatch. Every time I reached another dirty sex scene in the book—which is on average every 5 pages—I would blush, giggle like a middle school boy, and then anxiously look around to make sure that no one could spot me in the blinding glow of my extra-large flashlight reading Fifty freakin’ Shades of Grey. I’m not sure whether or not to pursue a career as a lonely, perverted spinster or just keep it PG and be a crazy cat lady. Either way…this event was an excellent Square One to either of those options.

            Well, there you have it. Although there is not a police report with my name on it and a description of those events much like I have provided, I thought that this little gem of a story couldn’t be held captive by my journal. Whenever you’re feeling a little down in the dumps and like your life is just not going the way you want, just remember, you could always be alone in a semi-public area, furtively and awkwardly reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

The End.

Oh, and I guess it’s important or something to mention that I was able to safely collect Lina. Who is now sitting to my left reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Because I finished it in 2 days. There is incidentally a cat sitting between the two of us. Looks like I may have a partner in crime as a future crazy cat lady.