Well, I was supposed to be back home yesterday. I am not. I am still in Cardiff.

Let's talk about how this all happened.

1. My flight was to depart at 10:45. I was not aware of the rule that check-in closes an hour to departure. For extra hilarity, thanks to a rule with my carrier in the US, my phone's international calling and roaming is disabled by the 5th. "I'll be home soon, it's all good," I think. I'll get back to that.
2. Caby and I make it to Heathrow departures at 9:50. The check-in fails. I am confused and the ticket slip tells me to seek the assistance desk.
3. I go to the assistance desk and they proceed to tell me that I was in the wheelchair queue and I need to move. I did not obtain assistance there.
4. Asking another member of staff, I learn of the hour-before-departure rule. He asks me if I booked through British Airways or through a third party. Because I booked through Expedia, he says British Airways can't provide any assistance and he tells me to contact Expedia. (Caby's dad, himself a regular flyer, tells me that they weren't very nice about it, in retrospect—sometimes they just hurry you through anyway.)
5. I find Expedia's US customer support number, though because I have no roaming and Caby doesn't have international minutes, we can't call it. I soon locate their UK number, where the automated prompts are all in an American accent anyway.
6. The kindly Indian gentleman representative I eventually get ahold of tries his best to get British Airways to get me on another flight and fails. I'll have to buy another plane ticket. I accept this, and he tells me of two same-day flights out of Heathrow to Newark, the airport I was returning to. One is a 24 hour connecting flight to Lisbon. The other is a direct flight for $2600.
7. Without any way of properly contacting my mom (all I have is her number, again, US-based) and without email on my phone, I use Caby's email to explain the situation and to tell her to please do not make the long drive to Newark, because I won't be there.
8. We get breakfast at Black Sheep Coffee in the airport (very tasty by the way, much recommended) to calm the nerves of missing the flight and regroup. I'm already set on going back to Cardiff for another week; I figured if I rushed back a day or two later, it would disrupt my mom's work schedule, be more expensive, and introduce more room for error. Caby, who I'm soothing through a mini meltdown, eventually agrees, and both her parents and my mom agree that slow-rolling it and waiting for the best price on my mom's next day off would be ideal.
9. We go back on a coach for another three hour trip and eat chippy when we get home. Caby sleeps for ten hours. I spend half the night playing Gran Turismo 2.

In case you're curious, you can stay up to six months in the UK either without a visa (if you're from a country that doesn't need one, like the US) or on a standard visitor's visa (if you're from a country that does need one). The concern isn't staying long enough to arouse the authorities, but just making sure I can land in a way where everyone is on the same page, ready, and isn't breaking the bank.

I've already let my bank know I'm here another week—another reason I wanted to go back to Cardiff, because I couldn't do that at the Travelodge on my phone without my passwords (I have since gotten Bitwarden on my phone)—so I won't be cut off from my funds while I'm still here. I've also established alternate forms of contact with my mom that don't require texting, and I'll probably get WhatsApp as well since Caby's family uses that and that means I'll get to join their family group chat. I'd say we handled it pretty well, all things considered.

What a fucking bizarre situation, though. We'd emotionally prepared ourselves for me to leave, saying our goodbyes to everyone all through this past Wednesday and Thursday, only for me to pop right back up in the coach park like nothing happened. I'm so grateful and thankful her parents are cool with it and agreed that was the best course of action, because the alternative would be a week in a hotel, and that shit is expensive. It helps that they've been all over the world and know how difficult flying can be. My mom was also cool with it, so long as I'm not blowing all my funds (I'm not, only some)—I do miss her, though, and she misses me.

I was supposed to be home today, in my bed or at my desk playing Red Faction or one of my other phenomenal CEX finds on the eMachines Box, listening to one of the now-25 CDs on my big stereo, recovering from the trip. That hasn't happened yet, but I'm okay. I'm accounted for, I have enough money to make it as long as I need, and Caby has ever-so-kindly offered to cover the plane back with all her savings. There's still stuff I can do here while I'm here, castles to visit and trains to get on, so I can vibe.

It's not ideal, and we're still occasionally laughing exasperatedly at the past two days, but we're alright. And hey—lot worse places to be stranded than with your girlfriend.