Chasing Shiny Pennies

Let me preface this with….We really are having an outstanding time. Sure, we’ve had weather issues, road (or lack thereof) issues, wondering if we’re (me anyway) criminals. It’s has been a fabulous adventure and there is no better companion than Liz for a trip like we’ve had thus far.

The drive from Kinsale to Dublin was uneventful. Well, with the exception that I snapped at Liz. I apologized. Here’s what happened. She’s the navigator and insists on using Apple Maps (because she’s got it set up in miles as opposed to kilometers). I’ve never cared for Apple Maps (plus I just do the conversion in my head). I like Google maps. I’ve used it for years and it’s never steered me wrong (Apple Maps has). So what happened was…..she’s navigating using Apple Maps, we come to a mass exodus point. Two lanes going to the left, 2 continuing straight, and 2 heading right. I can hear Maps saying…”keep right”. I can hear Liz saying…”keep right”. I snapped “I heard you, we need to be on M8”. It’s the left lanes and I can’t get there.

This is going to be long, sorry.

So we continued straight until the next exit. I took it and found a place to pull over (NOT easy here) and reassess. I got my phone, loaded Google maps and got directions to Dublin. Then I apologized (again) and we headed out using Google maps as the guide. After a bit of redirection it took us to M8. M is for “more wide” (for you newbie subscribers). We got to Dublin in record time (Guinness is currently reviewing it). Apple Maps will take you odd ways. I’ve had Google take me odd ways. But Apple does it regularly. Anyway we got here. That brings me to my next throwback.

I have this voice I use. It’s situational. I hear when I’m using it, but it’s a reflex. That’s the voice Liz heard today. My oldest, Alyssa, calls it my “Dad voice”, the grandkids call it my scary grandpa voice, Roscoe calls it the “better pay attention” voice. I can demonstrate it at will for anyone interested. It gets results. I think I first recognized using it when the kids were very young and I was trying to intervene in Lana’s (my youngest) contemplation of the advantages of jumping off the roof (that didn’t happen, but that’s the type of situation when I would trot it out). There are only a handful of people who have heard that voice and I love them all dearly. I regret that Liz heard it, especially since she wasn’t preparing to jump off a roof. Things are still goodish though, so that’s….good.

We get to the Dublin airport, turn in the car (no Garda waiting, yay!!), get a cab, get to our hotel, dump our stuff, and grab a drink in the hotel lounge. 1864 km, 1120 miles, 19 days…. I can hear the calculator keys clicking from here. Wow, Dude & Dudess, that’s like 59 miles per day. You do it (it’ll keep you young {as observed by Margaret}) and then tell me that it doesn’t feel like you’ve driven a full 5 hours. Liz has been putting out feelers the last couple of days. “Maybe we should rethink driving in Scotland.” “How about we don’t drive in Scotland?” “Can I just meet you in Paris?” I told her I was just getting the knack of it.

So we had a drink and went in search of something to eat. We’re across the river (a 3 minute walk) from Dublin’s equivalent to Austin’s 6th Street. We ate and headed back to the hotel. On the way, my phone was jacked. Out of my pocket.

I spent the next several hours, covering tracks. Bricked the phone, checked financial accounts (try doing that when the go to method of identity verification is a text message). Lots of phone time…and my hearing aid has been acting up. So finally, I decide I’ve done as much damage as I can for the day and retire.

This is going to be even longer, sorry.

Before we left the states, I’d been having an issue with an ear infection. So I went to urgent care (because your PCP is always unavailable). Three times. Three Doctors. Five drugs. Then we left. We stayed in Ballyliffin for 3 days. Before we left, I checked urgent care options there, found one in Letterkenny (on our way to our next destination and made an appointment). The ear, while having initially improved was heading south again, and a slight rash/itch that had started 5 days after the initial antibiotic I was prescribed was picking up steam. So I made an appointment and we headed out the next day. That doctor flushed my ear, prescribed 2 different antibiotic ear drops and steroids for the rash. At this point, we’re 7 days from the initial itchiness, 4 doctors, and 8 drugs into addressing this issue. Everything that has been done thus far has had a slight initial, short term, positive impact. Then the downward spiral starts again. So on our last stop before Dublin, I check urgent care options there, pick one and make an appointment.

So we get to Dublin, check in, have a drink, have dinner, and I give my phone to a random stranger. Then we turn in. My appointment is the next morning. I saw two doctors. A mother-son practice. The mom saw me, freaked out, and sent me to her son. Her son, it turns out, is a dermatologist. I explain the sequence of events and drugs ingested leading to the present day (omitting the previous [and clearly irrelevant] 2023+ years {CE}) {[(decipher that one)}]. He decides I’ve got Stevens-Johnson Syndrome. Prescribes 4 more drugs and gives us a letter to present to a local hospital in the event things head further south. Then he said take one of my cards and contact me tomorrow and let me know how you are feeling.

The rest of the day was spent filling prescriptions, replacing my phone, setting said phone up, and getting food and drink.

Today (28th) we spent wandering Dublin in the rain. Then we went back to the hotel and had a drink and now it’s 11:24 pm here, I’m creating a new blog entry and I just now realized that tomorrow is the 29th and not Friday like I told Liz earlier. She’s sawing logs. I’ve got to get us organized for the morning without waking her. The flight is at 7 am so we better be out of here by 4:30 am. Good Morning, honey!!!!!!!! Guess what?

I’ve gotta go. Talk to you from Inverness. I’ll catch the fine editing later.

Today (29th). We’re sitting in the airport. We made it. I got patted down and wanded because my knees set the metal detector off (see Esta, I do set off metal detectors). Liz had to have her purse swabbed. There’s an hour until departure so I thought I’d add a little to this tome.

So last night after my epiphany, I quietly started getting my stuff organized. At one point, after I came out of the bathroom, Liz woke up, lifted her eyeshades, and asked…are you leaving? So much for surprising her in the morning.

So, clearly, I’m a hot mess and have lost control of the situation. I’ve become as irresponsible with my possessions as a kindergartner, I’m at deaths door, and apparently I’m having trouble correlating days with dates.

Hopefully today I can turn that around. Initial results from the latest drugs appear promising, but we’ll see. So the count now is 22 days, 6 doctors and 12 drugs. I’m pretty sure that’s more prescriptions that I’ve had my entire life.

An update on the rental car…. Yesterday the charge finally appeared on the card. So I was never on the lam after all.

Hopefully I’ll be able to include more pictures from Scotland since we’ll have all the time I planned for there.

This is about to get way, way longer, I’m really sorry.

The plane out of Dublin was delayed due to weather (you know where this is going don’t you?). We arrived at Heathrow 15 minutes late, were met by an employee of someone (at this point we’re not sure who), standing at the end of the disembarking ramp holding a sign that said Inverness connection. We showed her our boarding passes for the connecting flight and she led us down a level and directed us to take the lift to the ground floor and then take it back up to level 3 and go through security.

After several miles of walking, we got to security, showed our boarding passes and were directed to an expedited passport/boarding pass checkpoint. She scanned my passport and directed us to a British Airways customer service area (?), after an interminable wait, we got our turn, explained the situation and he confirmed what I already knew. The flight had left. He wrote a phone number down and told us to call them. I did. After wading through the multitude of confirmatory questions, she said, “Go to customer service.”. We went back to the same very helpful guy. This time he directed us down the line to G19. There was no G19. There were 6 or 7 of us in that group (but not all going to the same destination). As we were in a maze looking for our reward, another BA employee cuts us from the herd and tells us to follow him. He led us down the way to even more helpful agents.

I explain the situation again, show her our boarding passes. She informs us that our plane has left. “You think?!!!“

We asked if they could get us on another flight. She called to check. Apparently she never reached anyone. Called a supervisor over who said we’d have to rebook. We asked if we would have to pay again, she said yes. I said, “You mean we have to buy more tickets for a flight that we missed through no fault of our own.”. At which point the woman sitting behind the counter looked at me and said, “Well it wasn’t MY fault.”. You gotta love that customer service!!

I asked to speak with the supervisor again. She hung her hat on – the observation that it was a very short connection time. I countered with first it was their plane that was late and second that we had been DIRECTED to leave an area where it was known that everyone there had been through security and was an arriving passenger with a connection and third that if the plane had arrived on time we would have had an hour. She hung her hat on – everyone had to do that.

Not in my experience. Sometimes it’s on the same level sometimes it’s on a different level but they never make you leave the secure area to make a connection. She hung her hat on – we do here.

At this point I know we’re not solving this with her. I asked where our luggage was. She said downstairs. I figured we’d get our luggage, book a flight (or train), and take it up with corporate later.

We went downstairs and found the baggage problem solvers.

We met the most delightful man ever. I explained what had happened, he checked and said our bags were in a holding area (cell?).

We asked about flight alternatives. While he was checking, I went to the bathroom. When I got back we had 2 comped tickets for tomorrow’s flight and he was working on finding us lodging. Liz went to the bathroom, leaving things in my able hands (we were tag-teaming).

While Liz was gone the delightful guy came out of his room and told me to go take a seat, he had to go get the room voucher. Liz got back, a few minutes later he came back with a hotel voucher, shuttle service vouchers, and 2 overnight essentials kits for us.

So, if you ever get hung up in Heathrow on a BA flight, find the tall thin guy, black hair, salt and pepper beard, glasses, swarthy completion, British accent (go figure), in baggage services. Just go directly to him, bypass everyone else. He wouldn’t give us his name (maybe he’s on the lam). Find him anyway.

20 minutes with him and we were on our way to a hotel with reservations for tomorrow’s flight clutched in our hands. It took us an hour and a half to find him though.

It’s still an outstanding trip.