On the early morning of Saturday, October 31, 2015, I touched down at Heathrow airport just a week after having been in London for a week of work. This time, however, as the customs agent asked why I was visiting the United Kingdom, I told her with a grin that I was there to celebrate my 30th birthday. (It’s my secret mission to make serious folks like customs agents smile, and mission accomplished.)
The amount of time and effort to actually leave the airport after an international flight is long and tiresome, but once I got a hold of my checked bag, I was off towards the train to central London. By the time I reached Paddington Station, I was desperate for a cab to get me to my hotel and for someone to take my heavy bags away from me. I walked up to the taxi, lean in towards the window to let him know where I was going and hesitate, expecting him to get out and help me with my bags. At that point, the elderly driver, who had not moved an inch, says:
“Can you manage?”
Oh. Well. Yes, yes I could.
And so I did.