More Cheese Please

December 8, 2015.

I was a mad woman. 

I ran from room to room in my apartment quickly forgetting why I had changed rooms and what I was looking for.  At one point I stood there, looking around my apartment overwhelmed and immobile.  I camped out on my coffee table, knees up, head down, and gasped for air.

I packed at the last minute (once again).  However, this time I was prepping for a trip abroad for over a month.  Laundry was tossed everywhere; unpaired shoes thrown on my bed; jewelry boxes were armored with tangled necklaces and earrings; work computer’s alarm continuously went off every few minutes with a new task due date, and toiletries and makeup were thrown in plastic bags in my bathroom.  Guess how many hours until my international flight?  3 hours. 

Time Check: Uber in 20.  Screwed.

Adrenaline kicked in, and I threw random things into my suitcase.  I was afraid to see what my room looked like.   My suitcase became a mystery, and I didn’t care. I was going to board that plane and figure the rest out later.  And so in 20 minutes, I packed for a month abroad.  I felt elated; I felt accomplished; I felt like I was a packing/trap queen.  I glided out of my apartment and into that Uber.  I was Michael Jackson moonwalking my way to the gate in glee.

But, when I got through security at LAX, I realized, I had forgotten…the CHEESE.

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Background: My dear friend Ashley, who I was visiting in Singapore, was craving some American cheese.  In my madness, I had forgotten to tell the Uber to quickly stop at the Grocery store en route to the airport. 

CRAP.

I had 30 minutes before my flight boarded to find cheese.  I walked in and out of Duty-Free stores at the international terminal, and there was absolutely no Cheese in sight.  There was plenty of alcohol, makeup, perfume, and chocolate, but where was the cheese?  In desperation, I asked a woman at a small restaurant/wine bar.  (wine bar = cheese, no?) Apparently No.  However, remarkably, she happened to be the Chef at the Restaurant. 

Side note: I’m referring to her as “the Chef,” from now because the only word I can remember from that conversation was cheese. (Mrs. Cheese, just wouldn’t be nice).

The conversation went a bit like this:

 The Chef: “Miss, why do you need cheese?”

Me: “Because they don’t have cheese in Asia.”

The Chef bewildered: “What they don’t have cheese in Asia?”

Me: “Maybe they do, but they don’t in Singapore.”

Chef confused: “Then what do they eat?”

Me: “Deliciousness”

The Chef: “But no cheese???? Your poor friend.”

Me: “You’re telling me.  So, can you help me out?”

The chef than whispered in my ear, (I promise she actually whispered) that she had some friends at the Steakhouse up the escalator and they could help me out if I told them that “The Chef” sent me there.

I thanked her, and ran up to the steakhouse.  When I entered, I told the Hostess that the Chef sent me to get some cheese, and she nodded at me as this request was completely normal.  She ran to the back of the restaurant, and whispered to a chef.  He strangely held up a huge block of cheese and winked at me. 

At this point, I thought I might be hallucinating, or already asleep on the plane.  “This is one crazy airplane dream, I thought to myself.” 

A waitress quickly approached me, and told me to step to the back of the restaurant while she eyed something behind me.  I obliged, and followed her to the back.  At this point, I began to get worried. 

“What is going on?  Is this some type of special cheese?  Crap, I’m totally going to get racially profiled at the airport for this damn cheese.”

The waitress asked me to wait a few moments.  “I am happy to pay for this cheese,” I remarked.  “I just wasn’t sure where else to go in this terminal.”  The waitress placed her finger across her lips, and essentially hushed me.  She went on to explain that her manager was eyeing her from the bar, and this cheese was on the down-low and had to be hidden.

I agreed, as I was this close to getting this block of cheese.  I waited for a short time at the back of the restaurant. I glanced back and saw the steakhouse chef who had previously winked at me with a block of cheese in hand, smiling, and waving.

A few minutes later, I was handed a huge block of cheese. I ran out of the steakhouse, and back downstairs, where I thanked the Chef for being a lifesaver.  She smiled at me, packed my cheese up, and put icepacks in to keep it refrigerated on my long flight to Hong Kong.  I was amazed by such generosity. 

Wow, this airport terminal really pulled through.

As I was leaving and heading towards my gate, the Chef looked at me and awkwardly and inquired, “Where are the cameras?” 

Me: “Huh?”

The Chef: “Aren’t you an actress? Where’s John, what’s his name?”

Me: “Wait, what?”

The Chef: “You’re so pretty, and crazy…  Logically, I thought I was on that show, what’s it called?”

Me: “OHHHHHH, What Would You Do?”

At that moment it occurred to me, a few acts of selflessness, was an attempt at 15 minutes of fame.  It all made sense.  I didn’t know how to respond, so I made some awkward comment, “Stay tuned.”  I then even more awkwardly smiled and waved.

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Oh Los Angeles.

The cheese is safe for now, but it has a journey ahead as do I.

Stay tuned.