Female | Junior | Medill
I was studying abroad in London this past fall, living in a hipster’s paradise and eagerly awaiting my favorite holiday: Halloween. The night finally came around, and being the red-blooded American that I am, I dressed up as a thunderbolt-faced, platinum blonde Lady Gaga to hit the town with my flatmates. The four of us (all Americans) had spent all afternoon crafting our costumes, going all out to transform into Amy Winehouse, Bill Compton, Olivia Newton-John and Gaga. With a few drinks in us, we took to the clubs. But once out, we noticed a problem: The vast majority of people were not wearing costumes, and if they were, it basically consisted of cat ears added to slinky black club wear. Fuck.
We decided that the best course of action was obviously to get as wasted as possible and enjoy our Halloween ala American. Oh, and I should mention that of course, being 20 and studying abroad, we had tickets to Dublin booked for 8 a.m. the next morning, all of which was part of our genius plan to celebrate Halloween. So we were wasted, it was 3 a.m., and we were still in our costumes. After a mad dash back to the flat for our luggage, we ran to the bus and caught it just in time. Two night bus connections and a pause to vomit somewhere near Piccadilly Circus later, we arrived at the airport with an hour to spare. Perfect.
Except that in our drunkenness, someone had misread the departure time and our flight had been boarding for five minutes. We sprinted through the airport and made it to the gate just as the last call for passengers was being made. We handed our tickets over and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m afraid we can’t let you board,” Joe Airline said.
I froze. “What the hell do you mean I can’t board?”
“Your ticket wasn’t stamped through at security. We can’t let you board miss. I’m sorry.”
I panicked. What was I going to do? I booked hostels, tours, the whole bit. I was on the verge of tears when some angel of mercy from the airline came off the plane.
“If anybody asks, you lost your tickets. Get on.”
I was pretty sure what he was doing was really illegal, but I was getting to Dublin one way or another. So I got on the flight without another word—still drunk, and still looking like Lady Gaga for all the world.
