How To Get Off The Plane Earlier Than Everyone Else (this may be trickier for males)

15 hour flight. 2 big bags- one 35 and one 50 lbs- in addition to one backpack and one rolly carry on.  Without a doubt more than my body weight. I land in Sydney at 6:35 and have to be on the Greyhound bus to Jindabyne at 7:35. That’s one hour to get off the plane, wait for the bags, go through customs twice and somehow transport me and the bags to the busstop, wherever that may be. After Gen’s disaster with her bags and having to pay for an emergency flight, I decided  I would take no risks and I would get off that plane as soon as possible. I ran through a few possibilities with my mom and Megan Irene.. we found the perfeccttt onnneee.

So I slept through most of the flight, Hallelujah, Kindled the rest, and chatted with my nice fatherly neighbor for some too. He was a lawyer for some mad scientist who has the most US patents ever and makes him travel all over the world. Also a photographer! Anyway, about 30 minutes left on the flight and it’s acctttioon time. I am sitting one seat in a four seat row, and friendly neighbor Joe* (didn’t actually get his name) was on the aisle. Ask him to get up, wait in line 10 minutes for the restroom. Ticking time bomb. Actually, probably shouldn’t mention bombs and airplanes at the same time.. So I use the restroom (they call it toilet here, like all signs say “Toilets” with an arrow, or whatever. I think that’s gross) and promptly find a stewardess. I contemplated for at least a few minutes on whether I should approach a woman or a man, but when it was crunch time, the female was just there and I was running out of guts.  Before I approached her, I flipped my class ring over on my left ring finger so it was just a silver band, then in my best distressed voice I said “Excuse me, hi, I’m sorry, I’m pregnant and going through a really bad morning sickness spell. Is there any way I could get off the plane early so I could use a bigger restroom?” (add about a bazillion “um”s and “or something”s to that). She immediately propped me against a wall, asked me if I was feeling dizzy, if I needed water, ginger ale, etc. I politely accepted, but told her I wasn’t feeling dizzy. She asked me how far along and I told her 9 weeks, hopefully scientifically that’s enough time to have morning sickness, and is definitely not enough time to show. And then I calculated it out that I’d be due in January-ish, in case anyone asked. So even though I told her that I wasn’t feeling dizzy, she noted that I was rather pale and asked “Are you shaking?” and I responded with a “Um I guess so!”.. Yeah I was shaking, I’m lying like a bum! But thankfully my lying physical responses match seamlessly with post-morning sickness symptoms. So she escorted me to my seat, asked Joe to scoot over, because “This young lady is feeling a bit sick, and we’re going to put her on some oxygen”. OMG. So I have to sit there, next to guy I’ve told my whole life story to, including future plans about moving to France and going to grad school and EXCLUDING any baby plans..  and he wedges the big ol’ fire extinguisher- like oxygen in between us, holds my water, etc while I have this mask over my face for no freaking reason. I guess I was shaking, but had I stopped lying then I wouldn’t have been shaking anymore! But anyway, oxygen was free so eh who can complain? (Although one 3-year-old walked by and nearly started crying at my stupid mask). I don’t actually think the oxygen did anything, the stewardesses kept remarking on how small I was and that the mask wouldn’t fit over my face. Goooddd, now I feel extra secure for a plane crash. So they keep me on the oxygen for about 10 minutes, and I try not to seem too cheery that they actually believed me, because afterall, I did just get sick. After about 10 minutes, the manager comes to me, a ncie burly man, and tells me that his wife had sickness from day one to birthing, and he just can’t sympathize more and how far am I along, etc, etc, and they will have a buggie (wheelchair) for me, so I can get off as early as possible, zoom through customs, and get to my bus (I don’t know when I mentioned the bus leaving in an hour, which I feel like was a bad move, possibly exposing my intentions on having fake morning sickness- but they didn’t know it was fake, duhh). Joe asked me how far along I was, thankfully didn’t ask me how the hell I was planning to travel the world and have a baby at the same time because I know it’s possible but I sure didn’t have an answer.. All the men here get super gushy talking about morning sickness.  Joe and his wife have three children, he remembered fondly of his wife’s vomiting days..?.. and when I was asked to move to the front, he carried both my bags to the front, because ya know I shouldn’t be lifting heavy things. So they move me up front in between an old man and old woman, the old woman who was also feeling very sick. Again I had to go through the whole story and she reminisiced about her and her husband 53 years ago being in a cinema and having to push people out of line because she was going to vomit, and she said “Ya know when you’re feeling that way, you just don’t CARE!” which meant that I had to start vomiting to secure my story, because the only thing that would keep me from doing so would be embarrassment, but apparently you just don’t care. She also told me that everyone can sympathize but no one really knows unless they’ve been through it and I said “Definitely not! And now I know!”. Psshh. Also, did I mention this whole time that I am actually feeling sick? I have to fake it and look it and now my body’s believing it. Downside, I guess. So after running to the bathroom and coughing and spitting in to the toilet (geez Louise) they announce over the freaking intercom that there is a young lady on board who is very sick and to please have patience while the crew tends to her first, and that the crew understands everyone has busy lives but to please be patient and respect the injured. Emmbarrasssiinngg. Thankfully, the crew manager didn’t actually get me a buggie, because that would’ve taken an eternity, but let me out “Even before first class!” and told me whre I could find a car to the baggage claim. So I half ran, half sickly walked (it’s aobut 6:45 and I have to be checked in at the bus at 7:05) to the end of the walk, to find Frank who could give me a  ride. Told him my spiel again, this time in half tears because I feel sick and am so worried I won’t be able to get to the bus. He gets me down, and walks me all the way to the front of the first customs line and says I can make my bus no problem. So I wait there, while watching the Austrlaian police passport-checkers try to hand signal “Ma’AM I NEED YOUR PASSPORT” to a lady who only spoke Croatian. Then I do the same half run half sick walk to the baggage claim, where it still takes an eternity to get my bags, which are so freaking massive that I said a huge thank you to my mom for thinking of bungee cords because I would not have been able to carry the carry on bags as well as the big ones, so I strapped them to the top. I found a not-so-nice airport worker, gave her my pity schpiel, and she finally gave me a stamp that let me skip the other huge customs line, so I ran right through, found the bus stop (not after losing complete feeling in the arm carrying the big bag, which took me about 20 minutes to recover feeling as well as fist capability), where there was NO FREAKING BUS. The bus was about half an hour late. And I laughed. I knew God was going to get me back for this somehow, for not having enough faith in Him and His timing to get me to Jindabyne that day if need be. So He just let me go through all that, then let the bus be late so I would’ve caught it had I not been pregnant anyway. Silly me. But I’d probably do it again because it was just a lot of fun.