"Morgana you have to promise grandma something," My grandmother's voice was unusually grave, "No matter how nice someone is to you or how good they seem-- you WON'T get in the car with any strangers."
          Everyone seemed to have advice for me in the final hours before departure.
     Dr. Dave sent a text message at 5:59 a.m. urging:
     "They just played 'Boys in the band' on the satellite. Have the best time ever. Be safe."
     Followed by Nena's sentiments over breakfast after I declared that I might get a 'Libertine' tattoo. She gave me a little frown.
     "You should only get a Libertine tattoo if you get a Libertine to go with you," She put the tea kettle on the stove, "Make sure you get a GO phone as soon as you get there and email the number to Carl, Roger and whoever you're staying with."
     "I feel awkward emailing Roger and Carl again," I admitted.
     "Why? It's a courtesy in case they need something or something goes wrong with putting you on the list. These boys are no different than you are so don't treat them like it. Be yourself. You are a cute girl who is sarcastic and funny and charming," She paused, "And don't do that bowing thing that you do when you meet people. You need confidence."
     I showed up to work (because, yes, I am one of few people crazy enough to go to work on morning of international travel) to find that my boss, Lou, had left an electricity converter kit on my work bench.
     Kevin came to the back room to talk to me. Partly about my being at work and partly about what to expect on the trip.
     "Ana's last day at Lou's records," He teased.
     "It isn't my last day."
     "You aren't coming back."
     "Think The Libertines will offer me a job?"
     "I'm still holding out for romance for you."
     I scowled, "Only for the citizenship."
     "Oh I don't know... expect to have a breakdown at some point during the trip. I think everyone does."
     I could feel a minor breakdown coming on at the thought of flying over the ocean.
     I sent Nena a text asking her to sneak a few of the muscle relaxants I had from the accident into my bag.
     About noon (just before Nena was due to pick me up for the airport) I went into the record store office to check in for my flight.
     That's when the trouble started...
     Up on the United Airlines site, as I was entering my passport information was a disclaimer that read something like:
     
     All passport information and government documentation must be submitted to the airline at least 72 hours before departure.
    
     Wait...What?!
     72 hours... 72 hours?! I was supposed to be on a plane in less than three hours. This was not happening-- not happening. This stupid oversight was not going to keep me from getting on that plane-- was it?
     I tried to keep my cool without revealing my sudden plight to my friends and co-workers. I made my rounds to say my goodbyes saving Neil for the last.
     His advice was this,
     "Don't take drinks from people you don't know and always watch your drink. Just because they're English doesn't mean they aren't creeps."
     Nena got me into the car and immediately noticed the uneasy silence. We made it about two freeway exits before I confessed to her the problem.
     "I'm sure it'll be fine," She said but there was a sort of edge to her voice that told me she wasn't completely convinced of this either.
     She suggested I call the airline while we were having lunch but I couldn't bring myself to.
     I would wait it out until we got to the airport--where I would make a scene if need be.
     What was I talking about? I didn't feel capable of making a scene.
     "I can wait here for you," Nena offered, as we pulled up to the airport, "To make sure you get through okay?"
     "No thanks. I'm gonna think positive about this. Just drop me off and keep driving.
     "You'll be fine. Drink a beer."
     I pulled my bag from the backseat of the car and gave her a meek wave.
     She gave me a smile, "Have fun!"
     Inside the airport things moved at an impossible speed. I was waved through security without question, United Airlines couldn't understand what I thought that the problem was and I was propped up at the bar next to my gate pounding a $9 beer within twenty minutes of Nena unloading me.
     I carried on a conversation with the bartender about the 72 hour rule. He said he's flown to London dozens of times and never heard anything about it.
     I looked up at the flight information television screen. My name came up; I had been cleared for a seat. I had an actual number.
     This was good. Worst that could happen-- I'd get to London and they'd turn me back at customs -- and what a story that would make!
     I finished my beer, put on my jacket and checked my phone before boarding the plane.
     A text message from Neil:
     "You are brave. You are Joan Jett."
     From this moment the only thing standing between me, London and The Libertines was a mass of land, an entire ocean and about eighteen hours.