The title is a reference to my activities and not Jean Claude Van-Damme, check the spelling!
Anyway, we were given reservations by the United staff, at United crew rates (substantially cheaper than anything else), for a nice hotel downtown. We secured our bags and I had brokered a deal to have United store all my cargo in their secure facilities. It was for dying people after all.
Note: All of you can spare me the ethics lecture, you weren’t there! There were 12 boxes, they were HUGE! What was I supposed to do with them?
During the cab ride to the hotel, we set upon the difficult task of prioritizing our to-do list while staying in Brussels. Go to the Grand Place and get:
1. Beer – a wide sample selection was decided on.
2. Waffles – Dude, we’re in Belgium, of course we were getting waffles!
3. Mussels – Good with beer
4. Sleep – If there was any time left.
We made for our hotel and then straight to the Grand Place. It did not disappoint! Having never been to Europe, I was in awe. Very much as I had imagined, artists were selling their works in the middle, a variety of mouth watering smells from the chocolate, waffles, and beer, lots of kids dressed in ‘fashionable’ clothes (taste is REALLY selective) and tourists. The architecture was staggering. I decided immediately that I had to find a job in Belgium. I know you are whining, “But you’re in the Army!” You know what, we’re everywhere! I’ll find a way.
From looking at the pictures, I’d say I had a good time. The food looked good; I tried lots of beer, and had chocolate on my pants from what was probably a chocolate covered waffle. It was AWESOME!
Not so much the next morning (few hours later) when I got a call that I had overslept! Head pounding and still a little inebriated, I threw everything in my bags and made for the lobby.
The cabbie headed to the airport in as though we were in the Indy 500. I remember now that I had blocked the first trip from my memory. As the car careened down the narrow streets, the combination of beer, sweets, and shellfish (and other unknown fare) began to froth in my stomach. In what I’d describe as a near catastrophe, I began to recall the sum of the previous night’s intake. I was green, according to Frank, from the top of my head to the neck of my shirt. Though we joked about it most of the night, Frank maintained the title, “Dr. Jennings”, and diagnosed me with an acute hangover. With an unhelpful but well meant slap on the back, he reassured me I’d be fine in a few hours. I successfully willed myself to refrain from having a ‘Technicolor Yawn’.
After a futile bid to get me into the high roller’s lounge at the airport, Kevin, Frank, Mike, Rich, and I parted ways for the time being. I splurged for a few bottles of water and thought to check on the boxes. After what seemed like hours of jack hammering on the keyboard, each keystroke producing a miniature migraine, they told me none of my boxes had been received. In what could be translated internationally, I let out a loud ‘WHAT!?’ I was told to go out through security, back through customs, out to arrivals, talk to United, get the boxes (all 12), check them all back in, come back through security and customs, and to the gate. “You have 45 minutes, better hurry!” – not helpful!
In what I’d describe as my most sobering moment ever, I pulled myself together and ran out of the terminal. I’ll forego the details, but I completed the task and arrived back at the gate with a cool 2 minutes to spare. I trotted up to the remaining four members of the Kinshasa 5, obviously worried that the naïve trekker had lost his way, or worse.
I spent the next 8 hours regaining my faculties and going over my mission plans.
