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It became quickly apparent that my bargain-priced 32GB SDHC memory chip that I'd bought off ebay was defective. Who'd have guessed? Especially after paying $14 to some random guy in Hong Kong which had reasonable seller's reputation. My first clue that something might be amiss was when the customs certificate claimed the value as $1 to avoid paying the import dues. My second clue was when the camera never finished writing a very short video. Sheesh, its becoming such that you can't trust some random foreign person promising great bargains online with your money.

I left the camera on the table to give it a few moments to write. However, a half hour later, it was still trying to write. I mean, come on, a thirty second video of me touring the apartment shouldn't take that long! Since the camera was allegedly writing, it wouldn't even let me turn it off. No, I had to eject the batteries, getting the "WARNING: YOU ARE AN IDIOT" alarm going off on the camera. Well, after a few trials I figured out that any photos past 13 or so would turn up completely black. Nothing would write past that. Movies, and attempts to format the disk resulted with the incessant progress bar.

Exhausting my options with the defective chip, I asked R. if we could swing by Fry's Electronics. I couldn't go to europe with only my 1 GB spare for pictures and videos, right? Sure, I could dutifully transfer the media to my laptop at the end of each day, but I'm just not that pragmatic. R. had to work though, so I busied myself with doing some laundry in the meantime. I found the laundry basket and soap easily enough. Oleg had loaned me a card for the laundry machines, one of those access things with the electronic chip on the end.

I took the elevator down to the basement, loaded my laundry and shoved the card in the slot, yanking it back out. It read "CARD ERROR." I tried another machine. Hell, I tried all the machines, and still got the same message. So, despite my wanting to avoid badgering R., I called him up to find out how to use the blasted machines. He wasn't familiar with the error, but told me where I could find a couple more cards in the apartment.

I took the stairs back up, got the cards, and returned to the machines. I tried all the cards and still got the same "CARD ERROR" message. I grr'd at the machine with a glare. With a huff, I called R. back up for tech support. After a little while we finally found out the problem was operator error. Instead of yanking the card out, I slid the card in and left it there. The machine then happily noted the card's balance and displayed the possible wash cycles. I thanked R., apologized for harrassing him, and started the laundry.

I took the elevator back up to his floor, and this is where I made my second mistake. Instead of turning into the unmarked brown door at my right, I continued forward. Thus, I entered the condo's impenetrable labyrinth. I looked for room 300, but the building I entered had no 300. I found a row of doors with 300-like numbers, but they were all odd numbers. I tried the next floor up and down, heck I even tried the roof-access door. No number 300. I found room 301, but there was no 300. I tried the next building and got worse results. Before I got completely and hopelessly lost in the maze, I backtracked along the exact meandering route I'd made from the elevator. Past the 300s, past the cat-lover's doormat, back upstairs, back along the pathway. I went down to the laundry room, through the garage and back upstairs. To hell with the elevator.

I eventually got the laundry dried and packed away. R. showed up in the late afternoon. Eric, R., and myself piled into the subaru and head out for adventure, or Fry's electronics, whichever we should encounter first. I queried which Fry's store we were near. Was it the space ship one? the Alice in wonderland store? Nope, it was just a plain old undecorated store, R. pointed out. Philistines! We piled out of the car and into the store. We first headed to the furthest point of the store from where they actually sold the memory chips before we got directions back the way we'd come. Of course, they don't actually have the chips there. No, you get to read the stickers of what they sell, and occasionally will see a similar chip glued to the board next to the sticker. Frustrated with the board, I finally resorted to asking for help. Why, yes of course they have 16GB chips in stock! Fine, I'll take two. Then I get a print-out of my potential order. On the way to the place where this paper becomes instantiated into a purchase and actual memory chips, Eric pulled me aside to look at the fancy little laptops on sale. They were certainly cute and a lot more portable than my laptop (please don't crash on me for saying that). But I declined. I didn't want the expense or added weight for the trip.

I bought the memory and headed out to the car. I was eager to try out the memory. Alas, I had two things going against me--the packaging, and my forgetting the batteries. The packaging was one of those thin plastic cases, pinched and glued together--a perfect combination for shredding the hands of any would be thief or owner. R. volunteered to take us to his office where he had some batteries and perhaps a chainsaw.

R. had an impressive set up for his computer business, complete with a windowed conferencing room. We enjoyed a brief tour of the three or so rooms comprising his office space, then found our way to the store room, repository of batteries. Eventually we managed to get the plastic casings off and both the batteries and memory into the camera. With a flourish I completed the first video with the new memory--R. handing me the other memory chip. I had R. and Eric pose for a shot outside by the nameplate for his business, then we were off to the R.-mobile again. Next destination--Trader Joes!

Ah, Trader Joes. I feigned fake tears as we strode up the steps to the store's entrance. All those years in Hawaii, and I still demanded to see this store again. Specifically, I wanted to stock up on Salsa Authentica, my favorite salsa. This red salsa, is hot, but not chunky. It doesn't taste like tomato paste either. Its a zesty flavorful salsa that I've even been known to use as a pasta sauce for my ravioli. I instantly raced through the aisles looking for my favorites. R. helped me find the salsa, and I pillaged the three jars remaining. I found my spinach pizza tortilla things that I loved despite the occasional bits of hair and packaging I found years back on a few occasions. I hoped they resolved those issues. I also grabbed some rice, broccoli, chips, burritos, and enchiladas. Eric found some frozen berries, Tuscan white bean hummus. I couldn't find any vegan pies, taquitos, tamales, or cookies. R. pointed out that this was a fairly small Trader Joes, so their selection isn't as good as some locations. Ah well, I still came out of the store with more food than I could realistically eat before my plane trip the next day.

Back at La Casa De R., Eric and I immediately started wolfing down food. I took a breather to launch the burritos into the microwave and the enchiladas into the oven. Then I went back to the exquisite flavors of my Salsa Authentica. Mmm yummy! I even tried double dipping the chips with Eric's tuscan white bean hummus and my salsa. Double yummy! The hummus wasn't the same as Eric remembered from a decade prior, but it was still very good.

Drew finally called and said he was free to hang out. A while later, he surprised us by showing up at the door. This is a surprise as R.'s condo complex has locked gates all around it. Apparently the Drewbelly had sashayed in through the car entry following an arriving tenant. When I saw Drew, I gave him a great big hug, swinging him around in the air. Eric shared his burrito and enchilada with Drew so that he could get something to eat. We also enjoyed some peas Eric had thawed. When R. wasn't looking, I tossed a lube packet on his Rolling Stones magazine featuring the Jonas Brothers on the cover. I snapped a candid shot of R. and the magazine for my amusement. Ah, it was one of those nights you just didn't want to end--friends, shenanigans, and food. What a great combo!

Unfortunately, we had a 9:15 flight to London. So, we parted ways with Drew around 7, and jumped in the R.-mobile back to the airport's Tom Bradley International Terminal for our imminent departure. We gave more big hugs to R. and thanked him for letting us stay at his place. We kept our goodbyes short though, as we didn't want to be shooed off by the airport security.

Inside the airport, I was suddenly in awe of the immense size of the place. Lines of people everywhere, huge rows of counters. I worried that it'd take an hour just to find the British Airways counter. I had tried previously to find a map of the terminal online, but they never specified exactly where each airline was located. Perhaps they shuffled them around too much. Eric asked security where our airline was, and he thought they were in the central corridor. Sure enough, we found a relatively short line for British Airways there. I watched the clocked nervously as the line made slow progress toward the front.

Finally, we reached the smiling face of the British Airways attendant and forked over our passports and confirmation codes. Mine went through without a hitch, but not Eric. No, Eric turned up some red flag in the computer system. The attendant disappeared from sight for 10 minutes. Then she came back briefly, disappeared again, then came back. Apparently, there was someone on the no-fly list with a similar name and birth date range. They were checking for anyone with an Eric Lee, or an E. Barker, or an E.B. born in 1975-1978, or some nonsense like that she assured me. From the sound of it, the search parameters on the no-fly list were pretty broad. We were just about to be handed our boarding passes, when Eric asked if we could get a seat in a specific area of the plane. Sure enough, the attendant disappeared through the back door again, leaving us to wait another 3 to 5 minutes. However, when she returned she said she was able to get us some seats in a more comfortable position, just behind a bulkhead. We thanked her, took our boarding passes before we would get any further delays, and rocketed out toward the gate.

Of course, we had to go through security first. Ah security, bane of air travel. Once more we had to have our fluids out, laptop out, shoes off, ass lubed, and pockets empty. What a hassle! At least this airport didn't have the light x-ray equipment that scans bodies as they pass. Sure, the manufacturers claim it obscures your naughty parts, but I've taken pattern recognition classes so I could take a guess at how accurate that's gonna be.

We walked, jogged, took conveyor belts, jogged some more, another set of conveyor belts, and ended up arriving at the gate in plenty of time for boarding still clutching our bags of fluids. Man that airport is big. However, by the next day we'd be flying into an airport that was undoubtedly larger--Heathrow. We caught our breath in some seats near the Samsung charging station once again.

Boarding started and we watched the first class people line up by the windows again--their ascots tidily in place, coifs permed, evening coats pressed. We waited for them to waddle onto the plane, then the proletariat had their turn. I'd never been on a plane that big before. It had two levels, was about 10 seats wide, and seemed to go on for ages. We were, of course, seated in the back. At least we had plenty of room to stretch our feet out near the bulkhead and didn't have to climb over people to exit the row. We even had nifty little entertainment screens that swung out from underneath our seat. The rows behind us had screens mounted to the back of our chair. Each seat had a blanket, pillow, headphones, eyeshade, toothbrush kit, and a complementary pair of British Airways socks. Well! Compared to flying on Hawaiian Air, this was luxury!

As we taxied away from the terminal, and roared down the runway for take-off, I couldn't help but wonder what I'd do for the next 10 hours. It was going to be the longest flight I'd ever taken.