Where there is a possibility for disaster, disaster strikes the Disabella tribe. It is like clockwork. Every time we venture outside the confines of comfortability, the world decides to put a damper on our excitement and throw us to the wolves.

Let me preface by stating that the issue has since been resolved, but the past 12 or so hours have been some of the most excruciating times of my life. It all began at security…

We arrived at a Philadelphia International Airport parking garage, and of course I had to pee. We already know that my bladder is the size of peanut, and I had consumed two large coffees within a short time span; therefore, I was uncomfortable, and we still had about three miles until we reached the check in point. We stood in a frigid parking garage, huddled around our luggage, waiting for the speedy bus driver to claim us as we made our way on this hectic adventure through Europe.

I want everyone to remember that the trip hasn’t even officially begun yet, and I’ve already had enough stress to last me a lifetime. I’m too young for grey hairs, and I certainly don’t need a heart attack at the ripe age of 22. My social anxiety was through the roof, and as fate would have it, we were stuck with the most obnoxious and annoying humans I’ve ever come across.

First came check in. I cannot pack efficiently to save my life. Instead, I over pack, anticipating every possible scenario and outfit opportunity. (I need to look my best on this documentation journey.) Therefore, I was severely concerned that my suitcase would be overweight and that I would have to pay an ample fee to cover the extra poundage. However, it passed the scale test, and we were on our way to TSA. Now this is where the story gets interesting.

We make it to the lengthy line, and it becomes apparent that we will have to tear apart our carry-on luggage, separating out electronic devices, toiletries, shoes, etc. It was a hassle. It also didn’t help that I forgot the strap to my laptop bag, which made transporting it a pain. We were half stripping and going through the metal detectors, and lo and behold, my mother’s purse gets pulled aside because she forgot that she left a 16oz bottle of water nestled between her miniature skeins of yarn. We were stopped and had to wait even longer, all the while I still had to pee. It had now been an extra hour, and I was about ready to burst.

After we had taken care of business, we made our way to the boarding gate, to make sure that we were in the right place, ready to begin the journey. The seating area surrounding the various gates was jam-packed full of people. There was barely an open seat, and of course my parents decide to push their way to the front and just linger. My family has a habit of doing that, just dawdling around, waiting for life to happen around us. In short, we made our flight on time after waiting for about two hours at the terminal, munching on burrito bowls.

During this time the only thing we could really find humor in was people watching. There are some very strange creatures who emerge out of the woodwork and make their debut amidst society. I love people watching – it is how I craft some of the crazy characters who make appearances in my short stories. We were flying to Dublin for our layover, so there were a bunch of Irishmen tittering along, making incomprehensible small talk loudly near the completely occupied seats. There was a young mother trying to choral her daughter as she ran around the seating area, peeking out the water-stained windows at the various planes awaiting departure. And if you thought there wasn’t an elderly man strumming an untuned guitar, you would be wrong.

They finally announced that all passengers could board the aircraft, and once we stepped foot on the plane, we quickly realized just how “tight” this flight was going to be. I was sat in an aisle seat next to both of my parents, and I regretted that decision from the moment we stepped on the plane. For starters, my mom was sick and having hot flashes the entire time, fidgeting and complaining about the family of four squished into the three seats in the row ahead of us. This family made the decision to recline their seats back into our laps for six straight hours. That was for sure a fun ride, let me tell you.

I already dislike people, and to fly for six straight hours with a family basically laying in our laps is something that I will not forget because I’m a little salty about the ignorance especially on a packed flight with tiny seats. But, in Alex fashion, this still is not the hook, line, and sinker of this story.

During the first flight, my parents – yes, both of them – decided it would be a smart idea to get up when it wasn’t yet safe to stand in the aircraft and wobble their way back to the restroom. Granted, they were not the first to make the courageous stance against the “stay buckled” warning. However, they were the first to be called out for this misdemeanor on a flight experiencing mild turbulence.

If you know me, you know how much I despise being the center of attention, and I was sat smack dab in the center of the commotion my parents were causing during a lengthy flight on a crammed aircraft.

At last, we exited the flight and walked to the next terminal, awaiting boarding once again. Fun fact, when you have a connecting flight, your luggage is supposed to be tagged with a blue tag signaling that it must be accessed for easy transfer from one plane to the next. We spent our one-hour layover just chilling at the terminal, and then we boarded our second and last flight for 20 days. We boarded a more spacious plane and landed in London where my older brother would meet us to take us to his house. Now THIS is where the story escalates to drastic proportions for one Alex Disabella.

Our luggage was not at baggage claim. Actually, let me rephrase. Mine, my sister’s, and my dad’s luggage was not at baggage claim; my mom and brother’s luggage artfully flew off the ramp into their awaiting hands, while the rest of us stood dumbfounded wondering what we were going to wear for the next few weeks. I was furious because I am a material girl, and I love my clothing and my shoes and my accessories.

We then had to report that our luggage was lost, and once we arrived at these counters, we noticed that half of our flight was without their luggage. Now, this would not have been that much of an issue for me if I had intelligently packed my carry-on. But no, instead, I packed a pair of mauve pants, a brown sweater, and four-inch brown booties along with extra scarves and hats, my makeup, my polaroid, and NO extra undergarments. I was literally stranded in London with the clothes on my back, an outfit I hate, and a Polaroid to document this horrendous day.

I was fuming the entire time we were exiting the airport, the two-and-a-half-hour drive from the airport to my brother’s house, and the frustrating experience at the BX on base to find adequate clothing that I can rotate for 20 days if I have to. At this point, there was no news about our luggage; the airline had no clue whether the luggage was in Dublin or if it had even left Philly. My dad, my sister, and I scoured the racks at the BX (Base Exchange) to find cute outfits to get us through Europe. We made some bargain choices and spent way more than we should have because the irony is that the airline called a few hours ago to inform us that our luggage will be shipped before we head out at midnight for Belgium. So now I have even more clothing to lug back with me, and I couldn’t even make this up if I tried.

Every time we travel, disaster strikes, but we made it through. I was a sass master 3000 all day, but I’ll have my luggage soon enough. While today was quite the experience, I’m sure we’ll have more qualms in the coming weeks. All is well with the Disabella tribe, so stay tuned for tomorrow’s adventures in Brussels, Belgium with a steaming mug in hand. We all know I’ll be on the hunt for the cutest coffee shops and cafes to get my caffeine high on this trip, and I invite you all to do the same because it’s about to go down. Are you ready for it?