beetrock

So I got to Budapest in one piece but with some adventure and suffering. At 7:30 pm last Thursday (an hour after scheduled departure, thanks to the JFK traffic jam) my plane lifted off and headed towards the ocean. Yet another hour later, I was dozing off, lulled by the sounds of Magyar reaching me from all sides of the cabin, when an announcement came on – apparently one of the cabin’s pressure mechanisms broke during liftoff and we were on our way back to New York. “Delta, above all, values your safety,” added the pilot apologetically.

At 10 pm New York time, treated to chips, crackers, and soda, we, the passengers of Delta flight 98 lurked by a JFK gate, waiting for the verdict of the repair crew. At 11, we were returned to the plane and headed for liftoff again. I passed out immediately, hoping that if an accident was to occur anyway I would be in my deepest sleep and not able to feel the pain of death.

I woke up in the skies over Budapest, a tray with a warm and inflatable-looking croissant rattling above my head. We landed swiftly and I even managed to get a cab, pronounce my street name correctly, and stuff all four of my bags into my building’s tiny elevator. Success! But what a sad surprise awaited me– a totally dirty apartment with rust in the bathroom sink and a smell of stale refrigerator water everywhere. Infuriated, I sprinted to my office and called my management company. The woman on the other end sighed and said “What a horrible welcome to Hungary.” You bet, bitch! Twenty dollars of cleaning products and two candles later, my apartment was clean and cozy and I passed out yet again in the hopes for survival and a better future.