The flight that would take me to Europe for my adventures began in Canada. Read the beginning of this story and the start of my overly romantic idea more filled with expectations than consideration here. 

Landing Confusion

Much of the rest of the flight went by with no more excitement. In the air, things were going well. I recruited three people to sing, turning a solo into a choir – an idea I had built up in my mind. I got some sleep which is not always easy, especially as a tall traveler. I also got some reading in.

Quite the productive flight.

My fortunes were to change when I landed.

Greg and I were up front so we would be able to deplane rather quickly. Unfortunately, the ladies on supporting vocals behind me needed to wait until everyone got off the plane for them to get off and get some assistance.

Greg seemed to be only in if there was a group. Plus, they needed help with their bags. I opted to help the damsels in distress.

I let the rest of the folks on the plane go past while making small talk with the ladies. When the plane emptied, we slowly made our way off the plane. The ladies had booked a cart to drive them. With a wink in my direction, they told the cart driver they needed me to be with them.

“I only have the two spots covered,” he tells them.

Mouth agape, I stare at the other empty seats before recovering. “No matter,” I nonchalantly replied. “I’ll just quick step it and catch up at baggage collection.”

“Sounds good,” they respond before being whisked off.

True to form, I stretched my long legs to make up lost time and ground. My spirits lifting at the upcoming reunion mixed with the impending surprise that I continued to build up in my head had me making excellent time.

No way would a pesky thing like carts get me down.

Then I saw the border control line.

The Daunting Border Crossing Line

This line with all its switchbacks had me much further back than Greg who was about 12 people from the front. Seeing Greg’s position invites regrets to creep into my mind. “Relax” I mutter before making my way into the line.

About two minutes go by before the ladies wipe by on their cart. Relieved I try to make eye contact with them to reestablish our contract. The cart hesitates for a moment or two before going around the BC line taking the passengers to a personal line.

Oh no.

They are about to go through BC right now?!

Not much I can do now, so I settle into people watching.

There is a pretty great beard ahead (something I am always on the lookout to see, maybe even get tips from the owner).

Some Germans are in line near me talking to their children in a mix of Deutsch and English. I chat with them about taking their kids on the road. I think my enthusiasm is infectious because the kids start to make wider and wider circles in their laps around the line denizens and barriers. I end the conversation.

The line inches forward. Some people go to an extra corral area. I’m not sure about that (but I will become all too familiar with them on another flight). Hmm. I turn to podcasts to pass the time. People’s travel outfits, tattoos, and dispositions still serve to entertain my wandering eyes.

Finally, it is my turn at the front of the line. I made a friend with the border agent, but that is another story.

After my chat with the border agent, he sends me on my way with a stamp and a smile.

I was through. Next came the bags, but would the ladies still be there?

Reverse Benedict Arnolds and Baggage

The answer is no.

The women are not waiting for me. I have been abandoned by elderly ladies who called me “Hercules”. They used me for all that I was good for then spit me out. Is this how America felt? Are these ladies playing the reverse role of Benedict Arnold? I will take this betrayal, America!

Granted, it has been 1 – 1.5 hours since I left them, so I can understand their leaving.

Sans Greg and the reverse Benedict Arnolds, I foolheartedly move forward with my plan. Though my numbers have dropped back to one, I am no worse than where I started.

I will make this work; I will bring what I have played out in my head into real life.

Prepping the Big Reveal

After several winding hallways, I got to what I figured was the last one. This was it. I dropped my bag, took out the poster I had made and the balloons. Balloons that traveled from America through Canada to England. They did more traveling than most people. What a life I am lucky enough to lead!

I took the balloons and started blowing. Surprisingly, no one batted an eye when they walked past me. Granted, I didn’t have rearview mirrors to see what glowers, inquisitive glances, or condescending stares I drew, but people were probably just ready to get where they were going after a long flight.

Forget the bearded bro blowing up balloons!

Balloons blown, I was prepared. I picked up my backpack, threw my yoga strap over my shoulder, and gripped my wheeled luggage, then stretched the poster and balloons between my hands.

Beginning to tremble with anticipation, I took the last few steps. Would she like this? Would this work? Would this be as good for her as it seemed in my head? Would the commoners throw rotting fruit at me? WHAT WOULD BE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOORS??!!

The Birthday Woman

I stepped through the doors to about 18 people standing around. My eyes trained on the only person I cared for in this country, the person I left America to join on a grand adventure.

In a shaky, cracking voice, I started “Ha-Ha-Happy Birthday to you.” Then more confidently, “Happy Birthday to you!” by this point one or two people glanced over with near vacant, partially confused looks. The birthday woman’s face went from smiling to embarrassed.

“Ssshh,” she said, motioning for me to stop.

This wasn’t right. This was supposed to be good.

Not taking the hint, I continued. “Happy birthday TOOOO Y…”

“Ssssshhhh!” she said again imploringly.

My shaky song finally came to an end after too long. Still smarting from having the plan I thought would be nice go amiss, I handed off the poster and balloons. She seemed much happier about the gifts once my singing had stopped.

I guess I was right, I needed backup. I needed a chorus to backup my lead. Now I know why singing servers in restaurants start belting off their renditions of “Happy Birthday” to customers in groups of no less than five.

Or was that really it?

Would a choir of singers have been even worse?

Did I really think of her when I was putting together the birthday singing surprise? Or a present that seemed fun? Or just thinking about what I would like? My family would love that kind of boisterous tomfoolery, but that doesn’t mean she would. When I think back to that moment, I can see how much I missed the point. I can see how much more I needed to consider her individual needs.

I wasn’t sure where that left us.

I had embarrassed her instead of sweeping her off her feet. Shit. This isn’t how our reunion was supposed to be.

But then she lifted my chin so my eyes caught hers before her lips pressed against mine.

After that, she took my hand and led me towards the trains and England. I figure this adventure would not always go as planned, but that we were in it together.

I was/am with that.

Your Turn

Have you had a plan go the wrong way?