It was the spring of 2002, and I was studying abroad in Ireland. My friend MB and I decided to travel through Europe together on our three-week spring break (they know how to do things in Ireland – a 3-week spring break was just the beginning).
I think, looking back, if MB had a chance to do it all again, she would pick a different traveling partner, because at the time, she didn’t know that I couldn’t read maps.
Or metro schedules.
This weird thing happens when I see numbers – it’s like they scramble to turn into code and then I hear strange chime music and my brain shuts down. I’m not kidding you. For the one thousandth time, dear Shane, I am sorry that you had to be my high school math partner.
Okay. Back to Europe.
Halfway into our trip, we visited Prague – my favorite city of all time. I love Prague. I love Prague more than chocolate chip cookies. I love Prague more than cheesecake.
Amazingly, I love Prague even after the below took place there.
MB and I were heading back to our hotel after a day exploring the city and we were running down the stairs to catch the metro. About halfway down the stairs we heard the “buzzzz!” that signals the doors are about to close.
MB runs marathons. Literally.
I run, well, you know by now what I run.
So, I should have known MB would reach those doors before me. I should have known to say “MB! Stop! I am the tortoise – I am the tortoise!” But instead, I tried to keep up, my enormous European travel backpack that weighed 100 pounds bouncing off my toosh. And those pretty little metro doors started to close, but I thought surely I can squeeze through! And glory!
My foot crossed the line and I let out a huge sigh of relief as those metro doors shut behind me.
Or did they? I tried to take a step further into the car.
I felt strange. I tugged on my huge backpack.
Oh. No. No! No!
I turned my head, but I could barely turn my neck. My bag was stuck. Wedged between the metro doors.
I looked like a starfish, my arms pinned against the doors.
MB turned to look at me, and at that point, so did nearly everyone on that metro car.
I thought, surely an emergency thing will signal that I’m stuck right? These doors should open right back up right? This will be over in ten seconds, right?
Wrong.
The engine started. And I heard the slow turn of the wheels click in. And MB started pulling on me, but to be honest, she was laughing so hard I don’t think it did much.
Now, although I didn’t speak the same language as anyone on that car beyond MB, I didn’t need to. They were laughing, and pointing, and giving me looks of pity, and I knew they were saying, “Silly American girl!”
And MB, she said, “If I had a camera right now, I would so be snapping pictures of you.” I have good friends like that.
I think it took about one minute to get to our next stop, but I swear, I celebrated a birthday during the trip that car took. And then, as though it wasn’t bad enough for everyone on the inside of the metro car to see me stuck against those doors, we slowly came to our stop, and it took a good 10 seconds for the wheels to slow, turn off, and the doors to open, during which everyone on the platform got to see “the silly American girl’s” backpack sticking through the doors.
MB patted my back as I hung my head on the way out the metro and up the stairs.
See? Isn’t it amazing that I still love Prague?
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