A trip to Beaverton
The trouble all started when we didn't get our reserved seat in the airplane. This wouldn't have been such a big deal if we hadn't been travelling with a baby. You see, I'd called and reserved the seats with the baby basinette in the plane for us, and somehow they put us in a middle row with no basinette in sight, meaning we'd have to hold the baby for the entire flight. Anyway, the situation got resolved, but not before the head steward offered us the option of staying in Frankfurt and even told us "I don't want trouble for the next nine hours." I guess he meant from us, but it would have likely been from other passengers had we not gotten the right seats, because there would have been nine hours of screaming baby to listen to.
Anyway, we got to Detroit, and I suppose as punishment for bad behavior in Frankfurt, the airline lost one of our bags. The biggest one, full of treats for my family. After their service helpline proved entirely useless, they finally delivered the bag the evening after our arrival. The treats were smashed.
Up to our arrival in Beaverton, things were uneventful. We purchased drinks at the local shop, only to discover that they tasted okay, but were a bit flat. I had a look at the bottle: "Best if used by: Oct. 21 2006" No wonder they weren't the freshest.
Then we went to the supermarket to pick up some things for dinner. The jalapeno peppers were unusually expensive, and my travel companion said "Let's go to another store then!" I had to laugh as I reported that this was the only store in Beaverton.
And yesterday I had to get crazed with jealousy as I found a youthful salesgirl in a santa hat flirtatiously trying to sell my friendly travel companion some sweaters. Okay, so it is extremely unusual to come across a handsome, thin, blonde, leather-pants-wearing German in the Midland Mall, but come on, he was also pushing a stroller! Calm down, girls!
Finally, a funny thing happened when I purchased some trousers yesterday. At least I thought they were trousers. When I went to pay, I asked the cashier to tell me what the price was when she scanned them, because they were on a sale rack. My exact words were, "Can you tell me how much the trousers ring up when you scan them?" She stopped working, looked at me like I was from outer space, and I knew I had confused her. So I corrected myself and said, "The pants! How much are the pants?" And then she understood. So, for all you skeptics out there, Americans really don't understand British English.