I am too paranoid for my own good

This was the worst morning of my life. It even trumps those mornings that I wake up after only two hours of sleep and have to stumble to class. To put it simply, I have never had such a horrifying, panicky breakdown.

I need to preface this story with a short little info-dump...
See, one can stay in England without a proper visa for up to six months. My school program in England is less than six months, but I have to arrive slightly earlier in order to go through orientation. Orientation is basically what causes this entire cock-up. Because I’m going to orientation, I am entering the country earlier than I would otherwise. This means that, in order to have a visitor visa, I need to leave the country earlier than I would like. My original plane ticket said I was leaving the country six months and a day after I arrive — I am entering the country on Jan. 2, and I was going to be leaving Jul. 3.

So when I go to check in at the airport for my flight to Vancouver (which then connects to London), the computer completely refuses to let me do so, citing this length of time as “too long.” My mother, aunt and I thought that one day would not make that much of a difference. Apparently, it does.

Cue full-blown panic.

I’m standing there in the airport, crying my eyes out because OH GOD THE BRITISH ARE GOING TO BAR ME FROM THEIR COUNTRY AND I NEED TO BE GOING TO SCHOOL THERE AND THE PROGRAM IS REALLY EXPENSIVE AND I CAN’T JUST DROP OUT BUT THEY’RE GOING TO DEPORT ME AND THEN I’LL BE ON A TERRORIST WATCH LIST. Mom and my aunt were pretty much wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

After talking to several airline representatives, calling Expedia, talking to more airline representatives, and getting a cup of coffee, we finally came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to throw me on the plane to Vancouver and to change my ticket so I will be returning home exactly 180 days after enter the UK. How ‘bout them apples, Britain? This must be how the Americans felt after the Revolutionary War!

Except I’m actually complying with their rules, so it’s not really how they felt at all.

In fact, this would have been a lot easier if the UK was still our colonial overlords.

At any rate, I had a lovely flight from San Francisco to Vancouver. I got the window seat, which was super exciting until I had to crawl over two children in order to use the bathroom.

One of those two children was a little boy who didn’t speak any English, which made things even more awkward. The bizarre thing was that he spoke Spanish, rather than the expected French. And he didn’t look like someone who only spoke Spanish. It wasn’t Spain Spanish either — yes, they are different things. Anyway, I was very confused and for some reason this made me try to remember all of the Russian phrases I could, just so I could impress people on my next flight.

Imagined Scenario:

Me: Здравствуйте!

Other Person: Wow, you are so exotic and intriguing! I can’t wait to tell everyone at home that I sat next to a Russian!

Me: Look at me glow in this halo of exoticism and pride and egotism!

Of course, in reality it would be something like this:

Me: Здравствуйте!

Other Person: Вы говорите по-русски? Как замечательно! Давайте дружить! Я очень быстро буду говорить по-русски с вами, пока мы едем в Лондоне!*

Me: Oh. Oh God.

*Note: My Russian is, at best, sub-par, despite the fact that I’ve taken five quarters of the language. I apologize if everything is WRONG.

At any rate, I made it to Vancouver safe and sound. Granted, I have a five-hour layover, but I can handle that. It’s much less stressful than panicking about deportation.

Vancouver is a gorgeous city, at least from what I saw from the plane (and what I see from the airport terminal). It is surrounded by snow-covered mountains, which happen to be my favorite kind of mountains. And the Winter Olympics were here! In fact, if I don’t end up moving to England after I graduate college, I might just go to Vancouver.

Unfortunately, it is wicked cold here. According to the pilot, it was 30F outside. That is freakin’ cold by my standpoint, since my usual place of residence has a nice average of twice that number. Thankfully, it is not freezing inside the terminal, lest I raid the little cafes for warm drinks and huddle with random strangers for warmth.

Speaking of random strangers, they keep staring at me from the walkway above where I’m sitting. They’re staring at me, and it’s kind of creepy.

So far, I haven’t met anyone with a Canadian accent, and I’m highly disappointed. All of the people I’ve dealt with — the women at the café/kiosk, the Customs Agent — have sounded rather American. I have never been so let down in my life. If the English don’t sound English, I’m staging a revolt.

Oh, and those ladies at the café/kiosk? They gave me a sesame seed bagel instead of the poppy seed bagel I asked for. Thankfully, it is no longer morning, or else that would have been the pinnacle of my worst morning ever.

Next Time: does Anne get deported? Check back later for more news!