6/11/16,
“The Cursed Child”
London,
England, United Kingdom
When I first
decided that “The Cursed Child” would be the title of tonight’s entry, I only
meant it in reference to the title of tonight’s play. While we are no longer children, we were
certainly cursed today. I won’t go so
far as to invoke Murphy’s Law, since things could have been a lot worse, but it
was close. Both my friend and I endured
a long series of unfortunate events, and this entry will, as it always does,
record such events from my perspective.
However, it is a more philosophical aspect I wish to first examine.
My reader will recall that the overarching
theme of this Travelogue is finding the familiar within the unfamiliar and
experiencing the unfamiliar within the familiar. Whether it was an unfamiliar story with
familiar characters portrayed by an unfamiliar cast or unfamiliar adversity in
a familiar city, that theme rang true today.
I have stayed at this hotel three times, each time under different
circumstances. However, with the
frustrations of today, it seemed a waste.
Any room with a bed would have done, but I crave my familiar. I can’t stay in London and not stay at The
Savoy. It has become a thing for
me. I cannot but travel to Britain
without thinking of Harry Potter, and this time we actually went to see a play
with new Harry Potter material. I will
address the details of the play in due time, but I will, of course,
#KeepTheSecrets, as JKR has requested.
Everything was going so well last night.
My friend and I messaged each other as we were getting on the plane,
saying we’d see each other soon. I had
written the perfect introductory entry about the play. All was well.
It truly was. I watched about
half of Deadpool on the plane and ate the beef meal they served before falling
asleep. I had managed to procure two
open seats for myself, in a two-seater by the window, after having gotten
assigned a middle seat. I slept fine on
the plane. All was well.
I woke up and saw that my friend had sent me
some messages, probably just some updates for plans for the day. I opened them, reading from the most recent
to oldest, and it didn’t make sense.
Then it did. No. No!!!
Nooooooo!!!!!! I slowly realized
what she was saying. Her YYZ-LGW flight
had been cancelled, and they had to reroute her YYZ-JFK-LHR. She would not be arriving until after the
play had ended. NOOOOOOO!!!! I told her I’d pick her up at the airport
after the play. It was the least I could
do. Besides, I was anxious to see her
again and didn’t want to have to wait until Tuesday when we saw Part 2 before I
saw her.
Over the course of about 48
hours, she flew LAX-IAH-MCO-YYZ-JFK-LHR, five flights. It reminded me of the time I was coming back
from Fort Simpson and had to spend an extra night in Yellowknife because they
cancelled/delayed the first flight. I was
supposed to take four of five flights that day, too. What could we do about her ticket? I promised her we’d explore every available
option to either allow her to see Part 1 another night or at least get some
money back. Spoiler alert: we failed on
both accounts.
There was an atrocious
line at border control, but that was fine, I had plenty of time, and it would
be some time anyway before my first stop opened. I picked up some cold bacon and then
continued on to Hertz. They upgraded me
to a Mercedes for not much more than the navigation system would have cost on
its own. I was rearing to go. The first stop would be the Royal Botanic
Gardens in Kew, yes, the original Kew Gardens.
Then, I’d go to the Olympic Stadium, check-in at the hotel, see what I
could about the tickets, then Westminster, grab a bite to eat, then go to the
play, then pick up my friend at the airport.
It was a beautiful plan, and I’d even have time to fit in a nap if all
went right. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. It went wrong. Very wrong. I had some difficulty getting used to driving on the left side of the
road again. The hardest part is
remembering that the bulk of your car is to your left, not your right, since
the driver’s seat is on the right-side.
That would prove to be my mistake.
I was soon at Kew Gardens, and I lit up a Montecristo before walking
around a bit. I found the inscription
photo and recreated it before leaving my cigar outside to walk around the
greenhouse. It was underwhelming. I liked it better outdoors. I retrieved my cigar and made my way back to
the car, stopping for a spot of tea along the way. I ditched the cigar outside the gardens and
got in my car. I chose another cigar for
my drive to the Olympic Stadium and entered it into the GPS. It wasn’t midday yet. The route to the Olympic Stadium was mostly
through suburban streets, narrow suburban streets with two lanes of cars and
more cars parked on both sides. I was in
the left lane. I had lit up my Aroma de
Cuba for the drive a while back.
Next
thing I knew, I heard a cracking noise, felt a bump, and some a puff of
smoke. I had misjudged how much car I
had to my left and sideswiped one of the cars parked on the left. My front passenger tire had impacted with his
rear driver tire. Both tires were completely
destroyed. I wasn’t sure how that
happened. I left a note for the driver
and called Hertz. Meanwhile, my friend
was messaging with updates about her adversity, and I shared with her
mine. They said they would have someone
out there within two hours to replace the tire, as there was no spare in the
boot. Two hours?!? That would cost me the Olympic Stadium, which
I had chalked up as loss anyway. Fine, I’d
get the tire replaced, and I’d just go straight to The Savoy and do the Olympic
Stadium another time. Simple enough,
right? Wrong!
Meanwhile, the driver from the parked car, a
Royal Mail employee, had come back. I
had given him all the contact information he wanted, but there was nothing I
could do to help him beyond that. After
over an hour of waiting, all the while messaging back and forth my friend and
her dad and exploring options for reselling and rebuying the tickets for
another night, I realized that I had another option. I could probably drive the car half a mile or
so on three wheels to the nearest tire repair center, and that would be a much
quicker fix. I should have done that
right away. If I had, perhaps things
would have resolved themselves tonight.
By the time I got there, it was almost 3 PM.
What were my options? I could wait another hour for the person
Hertz sent, which would be paid through Hertz, or they could have a cab bring
the tire from another center and replace it right away, but they couldn’t get
that authorized since the car was so new, yes, a brand new Mercedes with less
than 400 miles. I would wait. The manager of the tire repair center was far
too gracious. It was close to 4 PM by
the time the guy finally came and replaced the tire. Was I good to go? He thought so. Phew.
Finally. No. Wait.
NOOO!!!!! There was another
issue. The “wishbone” had snapped. There was no way to repair it. I would need to have Hertz pick up the car
and give me a new one. That would be
another two hours before they recovery vehicle could arrive. That was not an option. I would miss the play if I did that. I could leave the car in the garage overnight,
take a taxi back to the hotel, see the play, then go Heathrow after the play to
get a new car from Hertz and let them pick it up in the morning, then drive my
friend back with me. That seemed simple
enough. Of course, that did not
happen.
It was close to 5:30 PM by the
time I got to The Savoy, and my phone was low on battery. I checked in and knew my time was very
limited. It did not seem likely that I
could manage to pick up the tickets, try to resell them outside the theatre,
see the Westminster Palace (Parliament), get fish and chips, and get back to
the theatre in time for the play.
Reader, everything other than the play that I planned to do today I had
meant to do the last time I was in London, but my failure at the Olympic
Stadium also had wound up costing me Kew Gardens and Parliament. Today, I did manage to see Kew Gardens. The rest will have to wait for Tuesday or for
my next trip here.
After I charged up my
phone a bit and settled into my room, I headed out. I forgot my charger in my room. If I wanted any chance of having enough
charge in my phone to make it to the airport and back, I’d need that
charger. That cost me Westminster
Palace. I went to get the tickets, and I
was told that I couldn’t just get a refund for one night. They could only refund both nights. Fuck!
As soon as I walked out, some people asked me if I had extra tickets to
sell. I offered a price, but they wanted
both nights, too, just not one night. I
messaged my friend’s dad, saying I’d be back in 30 minutes.
I went back to my hotel, stopping to order
some fish and chips from a pub, got my charger and dropped off my water bottle,
picked up the fish and chips, ate them on the way, and was soon at the theatre
waiting for my friend’s parents. I
wondered if it would be awkward just seeing the play with them. To quote George Constaza, wait, no, I can’t
post that. Well, I guess I can post this
line, “Y’now, I’m better with the mothers than I am with the daughters.”
It wasn’t awkward at all, no different than
hanging out with my aunt and uncle without my cousin would be. They were truly, all-around genuine people,
and I enjoyed spending the evening with them.
They asked what I wanted to drink, and I only wanted something cold and
bubbly, not in the mood to drink. I
never drink when I’m stressed. It’s an unhealthy
habit. I settled for a Diet Coke, which
hit the spot.
We went to our seats,
third row, center, beautiful seats, two of which went to complete waste, at a
sold out show. We took the three middle
of our five seats, her mom in the middle, so her dad and I each had an empty
seat next to us. They said that they
wished it was their flight that had gotten delayed instead, and I said that I
wished it was mine. They thought I was
being sweet. I meant it. I never lie, not even to be sweet. When the curtain went up, I knew how empty it
felt, that that empty sit next to me should have been filled with the one
person in the world with whom I most wanted to share this experience. I knew how much it would have meant to her,
how excited she would have been about it.
They reenacted the Epilogue from Book 7, and I started crying knowing how
epic this was, that they would be picking up right after “all was well.” But, all was not well, not by a long
shot. I wished it was her texting me
about how awesome the play was, instead of the other way around. The play was awesome. The black Hermione controversy was a
non-issue. In fact, casting a black
Hermione added an unstated dimension to the prejudice that Hermione faced as a
muggle-born wizard to the Aryan-looking, pure-blood Malfoys. Ron was the best part. He was literally perfect. They had amazing practical effects. Everything about the play was great, except
the empty seat next to me.
After the
play was over, my friend was already on her way into the city, on an express
train. She got there before we left the
theatre. I asked if she wanted to meet
up, but she just wanted to settle in, and she’d message me if she wanted to go
out later. Otherwise, we wouldn’t see
each other until Tuesday. I walked back
to the hotel and charged my phone up a bit before heading down. I found a nice place to sit with a good view
of the hotel, where I lit up an Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which
I will now close so that I can publish and get some sleep before dealing with
tomorrow.
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