My train to London was out of Buxton the morning after the performance. More rolling hills, more sheep, bla-a-ah, bla-a-ah, bla-a-ah. Very lovely.
I got into London, paid 20 pence to use a toilet. Arrangements had been made for me to stay with a London friend of a couple of our cast members. He was in Dublin for the week, but his wife was around, and he had sent me her phone numbers. I got no answer, left messages, then left the train station and went out to have a look around. No luggage, you'll recall, just my backpack.
This was my first time alone in a European city, and that was pretty cool. I felt that people were looking at me with some kind of interest and respect, instead of the usual revulsion I get in the States. There is nothing to which I can attribute this.
I had some time to kill before I tried the phone numbers again. I didn't go into any shops as there was nothing I was remotely interested in acquiring. England is God damn expensive. A dollar is worth about 55 cents. You can get a decent no-frills meal for 7 pounds but then you calculate what you're really spending.
Those London pubs sure fill up at the end of a day. It seems like entire offices empty out and go directly to fun at the pub. Dozens of people were spilling out of every alcoholic establishment, drinking their pints on the sidewalk. I managed to find a seat in one of them, and ordered some kind of British blood, lard, and horror pie. It was exquisite.
I took my time over dinner then found a phone again. Still no Karen; I left more messages.
I decided that my host people may have e-mailed me that nobody would be around till late. I hadn't looked at a computer since I'd left Brooklyn. So for the first time in my life I went into an internet cafe. There was a four-terminal cubicle close to the door. I took a seat next to the wall, in front of an un-staffed service desk, and put my backpack between the wall and my chair. There were two women also working at the cubicle.
The screen was very difficult to see, at a bad angle, and my bifocals are kind of out-dated. So I took them off and had to kind of lean in and squint at the screen.
There was a fellow milling around behind me, near the service desk. I paid him no heed. That's the only thing I didn't pay him, though.
One of my e-mails (there was nothing from my hosts) had a date I wanted to transcribe to my book. I reached for my backpack but couldn't find it, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I still wasn't wearing glasses. The guy standing by the desk had squeezed in behind me while I was focused on the screen and silently nipped my bag! The woman sitting next to me hadn't noticed anything, either. I popped out onto the street; of course there was no sign of him.
This internet cafe didn't occupy much space on the ground floor, but upstairs was kind of huge, and was also a Subway sandwich joint. There was a security guard. I told him what had just happened and he told me he wasn't really a security guard -- he had been fired a couple of weeks ago. And he didn't work at this place anyway. I was already feeling so stunned that his insane story didn't really strike me as such at the moment. He also didn't know the phone number for the local police station or how to help me find it.
This was the easyinternetcafe, 14 Tottenham Court Road. Boycott them if you are able. Also Virgin Atlantic.
I called the emergency number for the cops, and they forwarded me to the proper desk. They took my basic info and told me I had to report the incident at the precinct house for the area (Putney) in which I was staying. That particular station was for some reason only open 11 to 3, so there was nothing more I could do at the moment other than find somewhere to be. My next call was to my host lady, who was home and had apparently not heard any of my messages.
"Hello, Karen?"
"Yes?"
"Hi, Karen, it's Steve Quint."
"Steve - ?"
"Quint. I'm the guy who's staying with you the next couple of days."
"You're staying -- here?"
"Uh, yes... Ian may have mentioned -- ?"
"He did say someone was staying here but he never said when, he's a little vague that way."
This was scary. But it got sorted out. I found their house without difficulty. Karen and her son Richard listened horrified to a more detailed telling of my adventure and were both tremendously accommodating and helpful getting together all the phone numbers I needed. I stayed on the phone until there just wasn't anything more I could accomplish.
I slept badly, but the next morning I had stopped feeling weird and was no longer taking the theft personally.
Fortunately my wallet had been in my pocket. In addition to a brand new backpack the guy had gotten my passport and return ticket; ipod --engraved with my name -- a beloved gift from Val; two pairs of headphones -- one kind of expensive; souvenir programs and stuff from Buxton; box of prescription meds for the rest of the stay -- stuff I have to take daily; two days' worth of dirty laundry; keys; prescription shades, useless to anyone but me; datebook full of phone numbers and stuff; cellphone; $80 US; AND --
A PLAY I'VE BEEN COMMISSIONED TO WRITE. And all the notes I'd been using to write it from. All in longhand, no copy on a computer. The guy I'm writing it for expected me to read it to him beginning of September. Sorry!
I went to the police station and made out a complete report to the very nice cops. They contacted the US Embassy and got me the next available appointment -- FRIDAY MORNING. MY FLIGHT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON. I decided I would assemble all the stuff I needed, go to the embassy immediately, and see what turned up. I got new passport photos taken. The girl in the photo shop was kind of interesting. She was 25 or so -- you know, I can't tell how old young people are anymore. They're all just plain young. This girl had short black hair, thick blue eyeshadow, and really unpleasant attitude. I'm not chatty -- I don't generally say enough for people I don't know to get annoyed with. She just didn't like me, or anyone else, maybe, how do I know? Anyway, she took the photos even though she resented it and told me they'd be ready in 5 minutes. I asked if she'd mind if I went a few stores down to a travel agent while the picture process happened. She shrugged. I was hoping the travel agent could get in touch with Virgin Atlantic for me, but they gave me the contact info I needed to do it myself. Went back to the photo shop. As soon as I came through the door I was this girl's best friend! She loved me! Talkative, joking, couldn't do enough for me! I didn't ask if she was twins.
I called Virgin Atlantic and was instructed to go to their website and print out an itinerary which would prove to the embassy that I was traveling on Friday. So I had to go to another internet cafe. Everything I owned was now in my pockets, so this experience was considerably more positive.
I found the embassy. There was a long line, or queue, in British, waiting to get in. I went to the guard at the front and told him "I have a stolen passport emergency." He waved me right through! I spoke to a passport person and gave him the photos and the various proofs of the stuff they needed proved. Less than two hours later, and 97 American dollars, a brand new US Stephen Quint passport was mine! The embassy couldn't really do anything to help me with my missing medications, as I had hoped, so what could I do other than do without them for my remaining two days. My only other option: go to a doctor, pay 60 pounds to get prescribed the stuff I know I need. Guess what -- I didn't. Guess what else -- I survived.
Well, I was as light as a feather -- and not just from the lack of weight strapped to my shoulders. It was very nice to have the passport resolved. It was late afternoon. I went to
Westminster Cathedral. I've never been in a cathedral I didn't like. And it was free. Then I walked to Buckingham Palace. By this time it just happened to be 7:00, at which time the guards strut around in their absurd fashion. The crowd went wild! Kids were yelling "They're moving! They're moving!!!" I had a jolly good Italian dinner, went back out to Putney -- about a 20 minute trip. Had a few richly deserved quaffs at one of the positively ripping local pubs. Went to bed.
I haven't told you yet about the part of The London Experience where I actually had fun. And there are more surprises. But I have to get up tomorrow to go to Connecticut to do three Labor Day Weekend Mikados. Light Opera Company of Salisbury brings in some professional ringers every year to join the production they've put together. Keith Jurosko and Louis Dall'Ava will be Mikado and Pooh-Bah. So I'll continue this tale... uh... later.
Happy Burger closed summer of 2004. Who wouldn't remember those wacky husband and wife burger mutants? Was there a kid burger also or just the cavorting couple?
Posted by: Mr. Steve | September 07, 2006 at 01:13 PM