CHAPTER 1: Just when I thought I got the hang of life's little treats...

This incredibly stupid story starts with a little girl: 22 years old on the outside, but still very little in height and in appearance as well, we might add.
She'd be happy to tell her own version so I'll run and go get her for you.

1,2,3, testing... here we come.

My name is Xalli and I'm known to my friends as the "lefward peasant" (of which I deny none, but would rather be called something else, like "beecharmer" or just "the freckly one"), but whatever.

I will be choosing to start my story like this:
Just as my tongue began to enjoy a very refreshing thread of water gushing from the fountain near the lavatories, beside the duty free counter, next to the seating zone by the gate numbered "123", it so happened that my head started rushing madly on the inside... like a bird rattling it's own cage made out of fish sticks... or something like that.

This of course, followed a series of events that no person in this universe would be brave enough to describe as "funny", at least not at the moment of their coming to be anyways.

UNFORSEEN FLASHBACK

I was happily saying my goodbyes to mom and dad, and my beloved (and very hairy) Daniel at the Benito Juarez airport in dear old home Mexico city. Just as I passed through the dividing gates, I caught a glimpse of the nostalgic turnarounds people take whenever leaving behind others they are fond of, particularly in airport entrances: only these were my own, so I sighed.
My parents, as patient as ever, had previously accompanied their highly disfunctional daughter (me) back home to PUEBLO QUERETARO in a very very hasty midnight return from the city. Reason? let us say that the 22 year old tiddler so happened to have forgotten her US VISA there. Why not? THIS, instead of carrying it along with her passport in order to manage responsibly through all traveling requirements airlines in LA give out to mortal people mounting their planes..

So we went back and got the damned thing. It's a 4 hour ride.

Next scene: I'm back at the airport, leaving behing a group of laughing flight attendants (my bad: I'd left all my stuff on the table for it to be rummaged away in a senseless lurk for home-made explosives, and then I walked on without picking any of it up... MATT DAMON).
So I got on the plane, redfaced, and in a blink of an eye I was getting off at the LAX (LA airport). Sweet! I'd made it so far!

Next stop: Seoul, Korea
Final destination: Bangkok, Thailand (I'm taking the TEFL course for the whole of January. That is, if I can make it to there without getting killed by wild things first).

I stood lifelessly behind an ocean of Korean heads waiting my turn to check in for the next flight (this of course, after being practically raped by the local autorities and their respective scanning machines, in search of those blessed home-made explosives inside my sneakers).
As I approached the desk, the lady in charge typed the whole Bible or such in the computer (she took ages!) just to tell me that my THAI VISA HAD EXPIRED 2 DAYS AGO!!!!

That couldn't be right, right? The scenery got all blurry on me as I checked it myself and discovered the awful truth... the VISA was useless.

I pissed my pants twice (mentally), then another time and finally got a hold of my emergency-puppy face, which totally moved the lady or something, because she immediately began her crazy-typing thing all over again as she told me: "oh lemme see, there must be something we can do, or you have to go back Mexico and get new visa"

I told her "it doesn't make sense... I gave the ticket to the dude in the embassy. Why on Earth would I need an expired VISA for the date my plane leaves??"

Nevertheless, it was my fault I had failed to check the date on time, and I knew it.
So I dropped my arms in a gesture of surrender to the ugliest of fates, assumed the position, called my dad and was ready to accept the plausible cancellation of my dreamy journey.
But ho! the counter lady spoke again: she told me to go to the Thai embassy in LA the next day and get a new visa while she changed all my flights to a day ahead. BRILLIANT.
She also gave me a discount ticket for a nearby hotel and said I could take the free shuttle there.
And so I did. I spent one turbulent night (not because of my stomach) thinking of the many ways I could, and would be turned down at the embassy...

Next day, I got up early and flew at the speed of a fart to the nearest Metro station, got on and followed directions on the map the dudes at LAX had given me in order to get to the embassy.
It was raining alright, lucky me! so I ran clumsily due to the enormous and red bagpacker-bagpack I carried on my back, splashing about like a maniac in London.

I took a cab from Hollywood Blvd and finally arrived on time thanks to the amicable russian driver leading the way. This counter-Thai-embassy-dude, however, was very kind indeed (not like the one in Mexico) and let out a spurred but discreet laugh as a response to my brief account of unfortunate events. And so this person made my MONTH by handing me a brand new Thai VISA (for this I had to get photographs and fill out forms and stuff before). I felt like Charly Bucket winning the very last Wonka Bar Golden Ticket...

I went out the building dancing like a retard hardly noticing the needly rain. Although I had no clue of where I was going and asked for directions every 2 blocks, I had a warm feeling in my gut that everything was not lost, not yet.

This is where I met the peruvian, I don't remember his name, but I cherish the little encounter we had: he mentally walked me through the rest of the way and wished me good luck, as he drove away to meet one of his driving students. His car, as I noticed from the outside, had a second set of clutch, brake and kickstart pedals for the co-pilot seat. That was weird and awesome.

On the way back to the Metro I met Joseph: an old libanese fellow who said he enjoyed libanese desserts, and that the "lady" on the far left of the alley was in fact a man...
I was careful not to give away too much info of my own, but got caught in a casual convo that ended up with a "take care, and stop being so negative. I know it's normal for you to change your mind all the time, being a libra and all, but always look on the bright side. So this is my stop". Got me thinking alright, I tell ya.

I found my way back to LAX and waited 12 long hours, to be exact, for my Seoul flight. I ate the most expensive Big Mac I've ever had (it had little gold and silver bits, and was made by Jesus himself I'd suppose, for that price) but was starving and did not care.

Finally I cut the line in search for the same lady that had treated me nicely the day before and got a swift response from the staff. Curiously enough, everybody knew my story and smiled at me as I finally got my very own ticket to Seoul by Korean Airlines!! Sweeeeet!

I waited another 5 hours or so, with my butt eroding away on a green bench until the huge clock hereafter decided to announce it was time to board the 00:10 flight I had so keenly passed from coveting to earning. At last!
The staff once again congratulated me on getting my new VISA and all as I strode on into the brightness of a gorgeous white 737 Boeing, the same that would, in a moment or two, blow me to the other side of the globe once again... Asia here we come.