And then there was panic at the airport again (part 3.0)

I honestly thought about whether or not I was going to put this on paper because I have serious doubts about my own intelligence/mental state. But you know: we are buddies in good, bad, but also embarrassing times. Who is The Mole this year? Apparently not Simone, but Kiki. Kiki Paniekie, my alter ego. She managed last Wednesday to find out an hour before her flight took off that her passport was still at home. Kiki P. got a last-minute emergency passport. Read this if you want to know what happens when you try to catch your flight WITHOUT a passport. Spoiler: make sure you have Lil by your side and that she flirts with the Marechaussee.

But now. I guarded the emergency passport with my life (are there people who have ever lost that document? HAHA) and Lil and I have landed safely again. The suitcases are still taking their time, so we plop our tired and satisfied butts on a bench around the baggage carousel. Time for a quick email check. 252 emails in three days. Pfff. I scroll critically through the stream of ads and press releases and suddenly my eye falls on the worst email subject I have ever seen in my life. It comes from an employee of our hotel in Milan. My heart starts racing. My breath catches. No. No. This is not true, this is not my life. This is a joke. Imagine, you just landed in Amsterdam, you open your phone and read this.

Dear Kiki,

Just to let you know, you forgot your laptop at the concierge desk. Please let us know how we should proceed.

Best regards,
Giovanni.

I panic-check left and right to see if I spot Frans Bauer walking around. No Bananasplit? Ashton Kutcher then? You’ve got punked? Not that either. I’ve got fucked. That much is true. I feel a total error coming. Like a robot that needs to reset. A Furby with factory defects about to explode. A Tamagotchi that hasn’t eaten for three days, has shat everywhere, and now flutters across your screen like a dead bird. I look at Lil and spontaneously get nervous. A nervous laugh followed by an attack of grumpiness followed by a watery layer in my eye socket. Am I seriously going to cry here? This is – Pardon my French – FUCKING UNFILMABLE?! This is absurd. Oil stupid. Primitive stupid. That you still have to quickly email credit card details before checking out from your laptop and then leave your most important tool ON. THE. COUNTER. RIGHT before you get into the taxi to the airport? Are you almost 26 or are you 14 and have you had six breezers?

Hi, I’m Kiki. And I’m having a bad week and have forgotten my two most important possessions on my trip in three days. My brain is filled only with a questionable substance full of errors and lumps (probably Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough) and stores everything except important shit. I am the loser of this trip. The impulsive, laughing, never-a-dull-moment girl, but oh, such a chaotic fool. The not mature person. I’m going to shame myself in a corner and not tell anyone that I took way too long to write this piece because I had to type it all on my phone. If you’re looking for me in the coming weeks: I’m doing the walk of shame. Back to Milan. Well, in my new Pradas. That much is true.

Update: okay, I love Giovanni. He’s going to send my beloved laptop to me. It takes a few days and costs some euros, but then you have a story in itself. Is there anyone who still wants to travel with me? Believe me: it will be anything but boring. And bring extra deodorant. Just ask Lil.