ROME TRIP DAY ONE: FUNIONS IN LONDON, OR HOW I GOT CONVICTED BY MURPHY’S LAW BY CRAIG CIGNARELLI

Written by: Staff on 8th May 2015

ROME TRIP DAY ONE: FUNIONS IN LONDON, OR HOW I GOT CONVICTED BY MURPHY’S LAW BY CRAIG CIGNARELLI

epa04212519 A general view during the final match between Sara Errani of Italy against to US tennis player Serena Williams at the Italian Open tennis tournament at Foro Italico in Rome, Italy, 18 May 2014. Williams won 6-3 6-0. EPA/CLAUDIO ONORATI |

10sballs.com tasked me with covering the Rome ATP event this week. Intending to provide ample literary fodder, a funny thing happened on the way to Italy. Consequently, here’s the opening salvo:

One notable thing about (Nameless) Air Shuttle flight xxxx is its small aisles. It’s as though the airlines believes all traveler’s carry the slight frame of Nordic Cross Country Skiers and are able to press their hips through the aisle-adjacent faces of other passengers. Imagine toothpaste pushing its way through a tube. Needless to say, there is an abundance of cheek-touching. The other notable thing is the seat size. On a bet, I once tried to squeeze myself into a child’s car seat, sliding beneath the straps and retracting my legs until my toes were nearly inside my hips. The cramping was excruciating and I made sounds I didn’t know I could make. That experience was an exercise in lounging luxury compared to ( no name airline ) Vern Troyer (Austin Powers’ Mini-me) would have bitched.

The plane from LAX to Rome, with a brief stopover in London’s Gatwick Airport is presumably uneventful. However, with Rome’s airport fire beginning the day I left, Gatwick has now become my own personal Hades. I am currently standing in a 230-passenger-deep line, being told “All flights to Rome have been canceled until Sunday. It is now Thursday morning. I have non-refundable pre-paid hotels, trains, historic monument tickets etc. that are now expiring faster than the deodorant this here Airline representative is wearing (maybe). I am in a mood.

The suggestion, which comes with a very professional “Sorry, sir” and one of those palms-up head tilts that is just the gesture of death to someone who wants assistance, is that I could purchase a new $500 ticket for Florence the following morning, although it leaves from the London City Airport about an hour distant (just across the city). I make the purchase and have a brief word with God about destiny and being messed with.

Crossing London at night has this dysmorphic Paul Revere thing about it, although when one traveler grabbed me to ask if I knew where the Jack The Ripper exhibit was, I jumped centuries and then sprinted toward the train station. The trip requires five trains, some underground, a bit of walking, and at least one “unmentioned” left turn …..

My final train ride requires some explanation. ON the “tube” (London vernacular), doors open at each stop. At London City Airport, however, it’s a quick open/close and I am about halfway out when the “shutting” occurs. Backpacking through Europe means I bear this faint resemblance to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, Michelangelo, and what with Florence on my itinerary, the whole things smacks of irony. Point being, the “shutting” catches the edges of my turtle shell pack and I quickly feel my heels lift from the floor, sort of like those old video games where you control the claws that come down and try to clasp a teddy bear, except here I’m the damn bear. I’m now hanging from the door, accelerating in space, seeing the beginnings of a tunnel wall about thirty meters ahead, and wondering if this what bugs feel like before they hit the windshield. With one death-defying heave, I launch myself from the train and roll onto the cement, and end up like one of those grey mini-armadillo-looking pill bugs with the flailing legs. I roll over and crawl my way toward the airport. (I’m riding this entymological analogy all the way home).

At 11:30 pm, I arrive at London City Airport, just in time to find the food stands closed and to hear that the last local hotel room has been sold out.

I am now curled fetally in a chair, which even ( un named airline ) would consider embarrassingly small, consuming a bag of vending-machine Funions, staring at the remains of a three-day old croissant, and wondering whether the Roman gladiators would be proud of me. Nine hours ‘til my plane arrives. Good night!

Topics: 10sballs, Atp, Craig Cignarelli, Rome, tennis update

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10sBalls_com says:

May 8, 2015 at 5:32 pm

#ROME TRIP DAY ONE: FUNIONS IN #LONDON, OR HOW I GOT CONVICTED BY MURPHY’S LAW BY @CraigCignarelli- http://t.co/kpshUKCxjE #tennis

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