AULA Day Three: 11-M
High schoolers once again. When will it end? When do the college students arrive? There is always hope for the weekend.
Cinco Minutos
The one outstanding feature of the day was the five minutes of silence for the victims of the terrorist bombing of the trains in Madrid one year ago today. Where we call our terrorist disaster 9-11, they call theirs 11-M (which sounds better in Spanish). I’m happy to say, the kids actually stopped smoking, shut up, and observed it respectfully. Rachael, an English girl at another neighboring booth, was here last year when the bombings occurred. She tells me they actually used one of the neighboring pavilions in the convention center to house and identify the bodies. And AULA WENT ON. More proof that this event is inhuman. Sheesh. Also, I did not realize until today that a station I used to go to Seville is the one that was heavily bombed. Mumbai, Beirut, and Madrid in one trip – it is officially a hat-trick.
And now for something completely different:
After the fair I took another trip downtown on the hotel shuttle. The reason being, I was in search of items with which to refill my mini-bar (no alcohol, just Coke, water, and snacks). I get these occasional bouts of uber-tightness from my mother. And, I just can’t stand getting screwed.
So, getting off the bus, I’m looking at the clock on my cell-phone, to see if I might actually have time to quickly hop into the Metro station where there are shops, buy my items, and then hop on the same bus back to the hotel after it circles around. Absorbed in my scheme as I am, looking at my phone, I walk into what I think is the Metro entrance, but is actually a very firm pane of glass. Ouch. I recover quickly enough that only a few amused Spaniards inside have a chance to get a look at the moron. I walk briskly on down the sidewalk. No way I’m going back in that entrance.
I’m ok, but my pride is wounded. I walk into a store on the street. None of my items. I buy a Twix to make myself feel better. Then I enter the Metro station by another entrance. No one snickers, but I can feel them looking, I just know it. I look in several more stores and vending machines. No luck. I do find a book in English. I go back up to the street for some walkabout. Several more stores, no items. Or, items, but the wrong size. No Mini-Kit-Kat? What? I’m now convinced there exists a store where hotels buy items for mini-bars that one can find nowhere else.
Humiliated and defeated, I’m in a very anti-social mood. I need some comfort. I see Burger King. I don’t even go inside. I go to the walk-up window. I return to the Metro area, eating as I go, to get a cab back to the hotel. I may be crushed and demoralized, but my stomach is full.
Cinco Minutos
The one outstanding feature of the day was the five minutes of silence for the victims of the terrorist bombing of the trains in Madrid one year ago today. Where we call our terrorist disaster 9-11, they call theirs 11-M (which sounds better in Spanish). I’m happy to say, the kids actually stopped smoking, shut up, and observed it respectfully. Rachael, an English girl at another neighboring booth, was here last year when the bombings occurred. She tells me they actually used one of the neighboring pavilions in the convention center to house and identify the bodies. And AULA WENT ON. More proof that this event is inhuman. Sheesh. Also, I did not realize until today that a station I used to go to Seville is the one that was heavily bombed. Mumbai, Beirut, and Madrid in one trip – it is officially a hat-trick.
And now for something completely different:
After the fair I took another trip downtown on the hotel shuttle. The reason being, I was in search of items with which to refill my mini-bar (no alcohol, just Coke, water, and snacks). I get these occasional bouts of uber-tightness from my mother. And, I just can’t stand getting screwed.
So, getting off the bus, I’m looking at the clock on my cell-phone, to see if I might actually have time to quickly hop into the Metro station where there are shops, buy my items, and then hop on the same bus back to the hotel after it circles around. Absorbed in my scheme as I am, looking at my phone, I walk into what I think is the Metro entrance, but is actually a very firm pane of glass. Ouch. I recover quickly enough that only a few amused Spaniards inside have a chance to get a look at the moron. I walk briskly on down the sidewalk. No way I’m going back in that entrance.
I’m ok, but my pride is wounded. I walk into a store on the street. None of my items. I buy a Twix to make myself feel better. Then I enter the Metro station by another entrance. No one snickers, but I can feel them looking, I just know it. I look in several more stores and vending machines. No luck. I do find a book in English. I go back up to the street for some walkabout. Several more stores, no items. Or, items, but the wrong size. No Mini-Kit-Kat? What? I’m now convinced there exists a store where hotels buy items for mini-bars that one can find nowhere else.
Humiliated and defeated, I’m in a very anti-social mood. I need some comfort. I see Burger King. I don’t even go inside. I go to the walk-up window. I return to the Metro area, eating as I go, to get a cab back to the hotel. I may be crushed and demoralized, but my stomach is full.
posted by Union Station | 4:23 PM
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