Uscita Lato Sinistro

Recently, I was trying to ease my mother’s worried mind by reminding her I traveled on the train without parental supervision on Palm Sunday to the Vatican. There were crowds like no others. Crowds swarming with gypsies. Though that might be a stereotypical assumption. Nevertheless, my mother was concerned with my safety traveling alone on NJT. When I reminded her that I am a world traveler, her response was “Good point.” I’m brilliant. Until my father said, “Yeah, and then you got lost in the Vatican.”

Touché Father. Touché.

The year was 2008. I was a senior in high school on a trip to Italy with my fellow Latin scholars and two besties (who didn’t take Latin, they just wanted to experience Roma). I was prepared to seize the day. It was a Wednesday morning. Rain was falling on my face as I waited in a line that went around an entire block. Umbrella vendors were harassing us, though I suspect they could see the umbrellas we were holding in our hands.

Mr. Umbrella salesman, people already holding an umbrella will not buy another umbrella, so leave them alone. Thank you.

We eventually entered the Vatican Museum. Joy! The group broke up so that everyone could satisfy their curiosities. I accompanied my two friends, who I will now refer to as Johnny and Dallas, and the only male in our group of eight girls, who I will refer to as random boy. After Johnny, Dallas, and I got our fill of laughing at male genitalia we decided to venture to the Sistine Chapel accompanied by random boy. Word to the wise: it takes walking through hallways for a good two miles to reach the Sistine Chapel, wear your walking shoes—I had my Puma Speed Cats on so I was prepared and as a bonus, I looked fly.

We reached the emerald city. Sneakily took a few pictures of our faces in hopes of capturing the Sistine Chapel. Then we were off to return to the museum.

Now, when exiting the chapel you can go to the left or to the right. One would think that both exits lead to the same place since the chapel is so crowded it is hard to cross over to the exit you most desire. Not in Italy. We were herded towards the exit on the right and then dumped into St. Peter’s Basilica, which would have been fine except for the fact that once you leave the museum there is no getting back into the museum. Our group was supposed to meet in the café. We had no way of getting to that café.

We tried to wiggle our way back to the museum. But as you would expect, the guards didn’t like that. Leaving St. Peter’s square, we were hopeful for our reentry. We were also apparently naïve. They don’t play around at the Vatican.

Mr. Umbrella salesman, when people look upset and lost, I suggest you stay away from them. K? Thanks.

After various attempts at using a payphone, we realized we were screwed. And this is the moment in our story where Ponyboy starts to get upset. I’m lost. In a strange city. With no way to get in contact with my trip leaders. Then random boy suggests that we enter the food/coffee shop that is two feet away from us. We enter this shop. Ask for a phone.

Oh, you don’t have a phone. Well, Ponyboy has tears streaming down her face to make up for your lack of a phone. Oh, the owner has an iPhone we can use. That’s funny because you just said no one had a phone we could use…hmmm.

That was a failed attempt at contact because our leader’s phone was either a) off; or b) not getting service. I’m going with a. At this point in the game I look like someone having an allergic reaction. My face is splotchy from crying my eyes out and I no longer like the Vatican. Sorry, Mr. Pope, but the Vatican can suck it. Since I now look like a fool in my Speed Cats, we decide to approach the guard and tell him our story, who then magically sees my hideous mascara covered face and lets us enter the museum. I suppose I should mention that fresh tears started to stream down my face when we were speaking to the guard.

A few more people tried to stop us from entering the museum.

Is all this security really necessary? It’s not like when we told you we mistakenly left the museum and had to get back to our group, we were really lying and were entering the museum to steal Laocoön. He wouldn’t even fit onto the plane.

LONG story short, we got back to our group and our trip leader was unfazed by our trials and tribulations.

I am apparently prone to overreacting.

Why did I just tell you one of the most embarrassing stories of my life? Well, I think it takes great strength to break down in front of people you don’t know and to ask for help. If I hadn’t have cried, then we would have never been given the iPhone which provided us with no help. BUT, if I didn’t continue to cry in front of the guards at the door to the Vatican Museum (which I like to call Stress Inducer), then we wouldn’t have gotten in. Only the strongest person knows when to ask for help.

If you got anything out of this post, I hope it is that the Italians, especially of the male variety, are nice to people who cry …they stop hitting on you long enough to actually be of some use.