Cry me a river

Have you ever cried for a Swiss army knife? I'm guessing the answer to this will be a resounding no.

I did the other day. It was on my flight from Zurich to Edinburgh. I was still working the morning of the 31st of December and had brought my bags with me to be able to go straight to the airport at lunch time to catch my flight.

I've got this Swiss army knife on my key ring- I love it. It's white and it used to belong to my grandmother, who died about one and a half years ago. She was one of the most influential people in my life and I still miss her almost every day. When she died, she lived in a nursing home and had not many possessions left, so the Swiss army knife is one of the only items I have from her.

At some stage during the morning, I thought: "I must, must, must remember to take the army knife off the key ring and put it into my check-in luggage." But I didn't do it straight away, and, you guessed it: I forgot. I only realised when I was about to walk through customs: my heart almost stopped.

Strangely enough, they put my handbag through the scanner and let me pass without saying a word. It was incredible- I couldn't believe my luck. But I still had to change planes in London and get through customs again. And that's where they got me. They have no mercy in London.

When they waved me over, my heart fell. After I had shown them the Swiss army knife, the security lady proceeded to search my whole bag, as if since I had one knife, I was likely to be a terrorist and have more. Then she examined the army knife. She decided that actually, only the big blade was too big, but the small one and the scissors and the nail file were ok- which I thought was strange, as there had been a time when you could barely pass through with a pair of tweezers. The lady asked me if I just wanted them to break off the big blade so I could keep the knife? I started to get some hope again, although the thought of them ripping out one blade still hurt.

She started to search for a pair of pliers and as she couldn't find one, disappeared and said she would be back. I had a very short transfer time and as I was already almost late for my next flight, I started to get a bit nervous. But I absolutely did not want to lose my grandmother's Swiss army knife.

When she finally got back, she said: "Sorry, but I can't find any pliers. So we're just gonna have to throw it away." And she threw it into a big plastic bin full of confiscated items. I was in shock. I wanted to explain to her that it wasn't just any Swiss army knife and that it was one of the only things at all I had from my late grandmother, and that I promised I wasn't going to hold up the plane with an army knife and couldn't she see I had a good heart? But I could feel tears welling up and a tight feeling blocked my throat and I couldn't say anything. I just walked off, and then the tears came.

Not just one or two tears. I walked through the airport to my gate and had tears streaming down my face. I couldn't help it or stop it. I cried for my grandmother and for life and loss and everything else. I didn't give a shit about people looking at me. I feel like airports are made for crying anyway and if there is any place you should not have to feel ashamed about tears, that's where it is. Clearly everybody just thought that I must have had an emotional good-bye with a loved one.

I just made my flight and as I got in, I realised that the flight attendant was the same one as on the flight from Zurich. She looked at me a bit confused- I'm sure she was wondering how I had been able to come up with an opportunity to cry during a 15 minute transfer at London city airport by myself.

I got tricked.

I had the time of my life in Edinburgh. Way too much fun. So much fun in fact that at one stage during new years eve, I said to my friends: "You know what? I didn't sign up for THAT much fun. I was just expecting a little bit of fun. And then what happens? I come here and have endless fun. I want my money back." But since they would not give me my money back (bastards!), I told them: "Ok, fine then. New years resolution for all of you: Be less fun and be more shit. Got that?" But do you think they would at least do that for me? Hm? No. Not at all. The inconsiderate pricks continued to be absolute bucketloads of fun. In fact, they were absolute shit at being shit. I just couldn't believe it. I feel betrayed.


(Sorry guys, stupid Blogger won't let me upload any photos right now. Will do it later.)

Update: Now that Blogger has decided NOT to be shit anymore and to be a little bit more fun, I have added a few photos. There are loads more, but I don't necessarily want to show all the world just how silly we can be. I think these ones should do. Love, B.