I’ve always considered Friday the 13th to be a particularly awesome day, despite what other people have said. However, I’m beginning to think that maybe I was wrong. Then again, by my lateness I could have avoided some major catastrophe and not known about it.
Let me explain. The day started out normally enough. I was super excited to leave (as much as one can be base on the fact that one is both spending six weeks in Japan and leaving all one’s friends behind for said amount of time) and my plane didn’t leave until 11:45, so I even got to sleep in. Once the final touches were put on my packing and I had remembered to close my door so my cats don’t get in and throw up on my floor, we picked up Grace at school and took off for the airport.
At the airport.Armed with cheesy teen magazines, Swedish fish, my laptop, and innumerable puzzle books, I was ready to go. I was ready to fly to California. I was ready to fight off boredom in the flying aluminum can. I was ready… to sit in the airport for over three hours while my plane failed to show up at the gate.
I would just like to take this opportunity to vent my opinions about air travel. While it may be the safest and fastest way to travel, it is also by far the most uncomfortable, possibly exceeded only by floating in the ocean in a barrel. In a storm. With another person. I do not think that a soda and a cup of ice, or the inch of space you get by reclining, or even the crappy television sitcoms that they play make up for the inability to move for an extended period of time while breathing recycled air and sitting in close proximity to someone wearing enough cologne to gag someone 500 yards away. The fact that you can’t bring your own bottle of water on or have to pay extra for a bag over 50 pounds just adds insult to injury.
Less than 50 pounds. Oh yeah.
Luckily, I experienced none of those things. My bag weighed in at an anorexic 37 pounds, the person sitting next to me was neither a fat guy, a talkative old lady, or someone wearing too much perfume, (in fact, they were a nice couple who chatted away in Spanish while we taxied down the runway and then fell asleep as soon as we took off), and the Sprite, complete with cup of ice, was fully satisfactory. The tow hour flight was the perfect amount of time to read all four of my trashy magazines--Seventeen, AstroGirl, Movie Magic and QuizFest--and get my fill of the Jonas Brothers, model, overpriced clothing, and what I should wear based on my zodiac sign. (Which, consequently, allowed me to correctly guess the sign of one of the girls I’ve met. Go AstroGirl).
One of the YFU people was waiting at the gate when we landed--the four of us from the Seattle area--who walked us to baggage claim, where we were met by a very friendly young woman and a guy who looked far too much like David Leathers for comfort. The plan was to grab the luggage and take the bus to San Jose State University, where the orientation would be held. The plan, however, did not occur. As I have previously mentioned, my plane was ridiculously late. Taking that into account, the bus that we were supposed to be taking didn’t show up until 6:30ish, and we got into the airport around 4:00. Six. Thirty.
Waiting for the bus.
Something’s got to be up with today if we’ve had so many transportation glitches.
Transportation issue aside, the extra time gave me some time to get to know some of my fellow travelers, and to write a little. We finally got the University around 8:00, and then the real fun times ensued. First, we missed dinner, and all of the orientation to our orientation, which meant I spend the rest of the day feeling rather confused about everything. I have no doubt that my experience in the actual country of Japan will be nowhere near as confusing as this oreintation is. There are room where we sleep, and different rooms across campus where we eat, with different groups of people, and then there is something about turning your room key different directions to obtain different results, and how we should only use the front door of the hall we’re staying in, and how we must follow the intensely strict schedule even though we were never given a map. I feel that YFU’s lack of organization skills--an my subsequent need to crawl out of this pit of confusion by myself--may in fact be the most influential thing is this orientation. (More so that watching Japanese television shows, which while incredibly entertaining, is not necessarily very informative. I mean, you wouldn’t want someone to watch The OC and expect an accurate portrayal of Californians. Which the Californians on my bus were only too keen to set people straight on).
Rather than talk about things that are important, I would rather discuss my current living quarters: Lucy M. Washburn Hall is the epitome of the Sketchy College Dorm…
My dorm.
…complete with the Sketchy College Dorm Room…
Sketchy College Dorm Room
…the Sketchy College Hallway…
Sketchy College Hallway
…and the Sketchy College Bathroom.
Sketchy College Bathroom.
This is not to be confused with the Sketchy Hostel, which while being equivalent in low-grade rooming, has a sort of homey, indie, backpacker feel to it. Not so much here. Of the three people staying in my room, I got there last, which meant I got the worst blanket and the bunk bed with no ladder, but also some nifty shelves to put my stuff on.
Nifty shelves to put my stuff on.
I wonder, if this place is so very sketcherific, why do I like it so much?
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