You all know how I felt about Sweden and how, given a half-second and some extra wealth, I'd relocate. What you don't know is the rest of the story.
From the moment I woke up on Saturday morning (7 a.m. Stockholm/1:00 a.m. Indy), we were on the go. We all got showered and headed back out to 'our' Cafe in Gamla Stan for a final breakfast and to pick up some loaves of bread we ordered. (Yes, we brought back bread among a million other things)
We walked back through the Riksdag courtyard back onto our hotel's street and said our mental goodbyes to a place we'd loved so much.
We went upstairs, collected our (much heavier) bags, and headed out to the Arlanda Express train station, about 4 blocks away. Each of us had bag mishaps on the way there (turned over bags, undone straps, etc) and when we get to the station, the next train is leaving in 4 minutes. I rush in, get the train tickets just as someone starts to ask the clerk questions. Now 2 minutes until the train leaves, we grab our bags and rush for the train. The first car we bypass, as it is full full full. We leap onto the train with a minute yet to go and get outselves settled. No more than we had sat down than the train takes off.
We get to the airport and need to get our 'tax free' money back from our purchases. This is pretty low key but the Delta line is not. We are first interviewed by a Delta employee/INS screener. She scans our passports and reconfirms that we are US citizens and headed out to the US. After a few questions about bags, packing, where we were, etc., we are on our way to security. Security is run differently in Sweden, as it is a one at a time affair that takes a great deal of time, as there is only one screening line in service. After getting through security, we head out to the International terminal area and must pass through 'passport kontrol.' Passport kontrol was not currently manned, so we waited for someone to show up so we could actually go to our gate. After getting through there, we went to our gate, where we went through ANOTHER security screening before being allowed into the gate area. Suffice to say, if you took out 9/10 of the security in the preceding paragraph, you'd have a pretty good idea of the U.S. system versus what the Swedes do to travel internationally.
We get on our plane and it takes off. 9 hours and 33 minutes from Stockholm to Atlanta.
On our flight, Sister, Mom and I are seated together, in the middle aisle. In front of Mom and I are a couple, possibly American, who spend the flight either fighting or fucking. Yes, you read that right: fighting or fucking. If they weren't 'going to the bathroom' together for 30 minutes at a stretch (twice), they were fighting. About God only knows what. Pouting, fighting, kissing, then fucking, then repeat. Both Mom and I noticed it, as I'm sure the rest of the plane did too. For the record, as much as joining the mile high club seems like a nice way to spend a trip, an airplane lavatory is not my idea of the cleanest nor the most pleasant way to have sex. I'm thinking when I get fabulously wealthy and have my own jet, I'll make that dream come true. But I digress.
So we get to Atlanta. This is where the fun begins.
After a 1/2 mile (or more) walk from the plane to Customs, we are shuttled through a series of lines where our declaration forms are checked. I must say that it is an apparently job requirement that Customs agents be: a) rude and b) bored out of their minds with their jobs. Sister and I get through easily, but Mom's declaration form says "Dala Horses" which sets off alarms that she is trying to import livestock. In reality, a Dala Horse is a small wooden horse that is a traditional symbol of Sweden. She nearly causes a ruckus in Customs. Then we are off to get our bags, then through customs again, then through security, then off to our gate for our flight to Indy. We arrived at the gate at 5:35 and our flight leaves for Indy at 9:56. Plenty of time, right?
Initially, 5 or 6 bags come off the carousel which belong to our fellow passengers. Then the screen shows that we'll be sharing a carousel with passengers from Mexico City. Soon the carousel area is packed with both Stockholm passengers (pale) and Mexico City passengers (tanned). It is obvious who is getting bags and who is not. It is about 5:55 or so.
Soon, all the Mexico City passengers have their bags and leave. The carousel continues to go round and round, all the while, no more bags are coming out. It is now 6:30 p.m.
At 6:55 p.m., the carousel shuts off. I guesstimate at this point that 90% of the Stockholm passengers have not received their bags.
At this point, Sister has 'a moment' with the Delta personnel. Blah, blah, blah, you haven't been here an hour ... blah blah blah from the personnel. Mom also tracks someone down and is given the usual litany of excuses until the rest of the plane (pretty much) surrounds the Delta employee and she calls for help.
At 7:10 p.m., the carousel starts again. We get our bags at 7:15. 1 hour 45 minutes after deplaning.
We then head for the customs line where some stupid idiot from the Mexico City flight attempts to bring in a banana. Hey dumbass, what part about 'no fruit' did you not understand? WTF.
This brings the line to a screeching halt until she removes it from her bag and gives it up.
We pass through this area and head to the baggage drop off area, which by now, thanks to the fuckup with the Stockholm passengers' bags, is a three ring circus of clusterfucks. Yes, three simultaneous clusterfucks all at once. A sight to behold. We are instructed to dump our luggage in a certain area where they claim they will scan it and get it to the right plane. At this point, I am sure my dirty clothes and some souvenirs will end up in Singapore.
We are corralled into security lines and rechecked for half-full water bottles. Mom is guilty so we wait a while for her to be chastised.
After this, we head to the trams to go to our terminal. It is now 7:50 p.m.
I have vowed that I will not, under any circumstance, fly into Atlanta again. I have never seen anything so fucked up in all my days and I have worked for local and state government.
We head into TGI Friday's where we practically shout at the waitress to bring us beer. Thank God she complies. We get food. It is now 2 a.m. for our bodies and we are whipped.
We finish up, head down to our gate. It isn't going to board for another 45 minutes and we contemplate paying a fellow passenger to wake us up in time for boarding. We manage to survive by getting up and walking around in an attempt to not pass out.
We get on the plane and settle in. I put on my neck pillow and eye mask. I am sleeping before wheels are up and only wake up when the wheels touch back down in Indy.
At 12:30 a.m., Mom and I enter my house, say our goodnights, I take an Ambien, and it is sleepytime for Athena until 8:30 this morning. I've been awake since. Am hoping to make it until 8 p.m. tonight to keep a semblance of a real bedtime.
All in all, loved loved loved Sweden, Hate Hate Hate Atlanta Int'l, and am so very thankful to be back home. The kittens haven't let me out of their sight all day.
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