The Storm
My fellow Taz buddies
In the 10 years I've been moving around, I have consistently underutilized my time and underestimated how long packing will take, causing havoc on my way out.
Moving for college was a marathon packing session, with my mom asking me every half hour why I didn't pack this earlier.
Leaving Seattle included friends cleaning out my fridge, packing my underwear, driving to my storage unit, and repacking everything I "packed."
Today was something else. I need some boots and other last-minute traveling items for the cold weather in Japan. I made a trip to Decathlon a day before my flight and spent a pretty penny on everything except some boots. So today, on the day of my flight, I find myself needing to go back to Decathlon for a quick trip to get some shoes. I tell my grandma it's a two-hour trip.
I have some extra time after going through a few options and grabbing some hand warmers. I call my barber and head over to get a haircut.
The barbershop is a stress-free environment where I get pampered and forget about the world's troubles.
I get my hair cut and washed (these luscious locks don't maintain themselves) and opt for the neck and head massage. It's taking longer than I expected, but I'm telling myself it's a necessary tune-up for the trip to Japan.
Today, I learned that time outside the barbershop doesn't stop while I'm in there.
On my way out, I look at my phone, and my heart sinks. In the course of the 55 minutes, there are 30 missed calls, 4 groups asking where I am, 7 texts, and 15 voice mails/voice messages. I pick up the next call that comes to me, and my aunt hysterically asks where I have been. I tell her I stopped for a haircut, and she takes a deep breath and exclaims that my whole family is worried and sick about me. I brush it off as overreacting and then start reading some of the messages that came my way. My aunts, uncles, and cousins are fanning the city looking for me. They make announcements on all public channels, drive around yelling on the streets, and even get ready to file a missing person case with the police. It's the middle of a Wednesday. One left work, one canceled an interview, one left mid-lunch, and they're all calling in favors left and right to track me down. I'm shocked that some are convinced I got mugged, kidnapped, or arrested. Where was this when I was sleeping outside a train station in Paris?
I get home, and there's a brief, fleeting moment of "Thank goodness you're okay." Everything after that is a set of curse words and pittai (Hindi for minor physical abuse).
After I eat lunch with my cousin, I can't help but laugh. Maybe I'll finally live up to my Looney Toons jersey name, Taz.