Are you planning a trip to the U.K.? Probably not. I mention the following only so you can tell yourself, "Well, thank heavens I'm staying put. Why would anyone go through this?"
The quarantine requirements were lifted earlier this month. Before they changed the rules, tourists were forced to sit in their hotel room for 10 days staring out a rain-smeared window, relying on room-service meals of beans and toast delivered by someone in a hazmat suit who rang the bell, ran down the hall, and pulled the cart away with a long rope.
For some reason, this didn't exactly jump-start the flood of visitors.
Current rules: no quarantine if you were double-jabbed, or twice-lanced, or one-less-than-thruple-speared, or whatever charming English term they have for shots.
You must, however, get a COVID-19 test 72 hours before you arrive, and here you will encounter the baffling terminology of these tests. When you call up the web page about the tests, this is what you want to see: "We will accept tests performed according to international standards Alpha, Beta and Zed." Something simple. It would be easy if the different tests had names, like Harry, Jane and Throckmorton.
But no. Because sadists run things, this is what you read:
"The test must be a PCR antizorgal histamine, herstamine, or themstamine antigen gorble-reveral, a PBC rapid-result herkimier-forward-mediated isothermal helicase-dependent wombat Arthur winking system, or a PBR (Pabst Blue Riboflavin) beer-assisted belch-specific virus-aspiration detection protocol, or a PBR+ (Pepto-Bismol Reflux) Heebijeebie-hydroquadraic fast-antigen. NOT ALLOWED: Whatever you probably did."
The United States is a bit more relaxed for entry requirements: Three days before you return, that'll do. You get the test Monday morn, you arrive Wednesday 11:59 p.m., we're good. Not England: 72 hours. So you make your test appointment with the hopes that the customs line at Heathrow isn't too slow, lest some jobsworth peer at your papers and frown:
"I'm sorry, this test was taken 72 hours and four minutes ago. Back to the traitorous States with you. Guards!"
The U.K. also requires that you get a test after arriving. Sensible. But before being allowed into the country, you have to prove that you have an appointment to be tested. This is possible, in the sense that it is possible to build a trampoline that would allow you to leave Earth's gravity and land on the moon, but it is complicated.
I tried to make an account at a British pharmacy chain that had no outlets in the United States, but is owned by the company that owns Walgreens. Hey, maybe I'd get points! (I did not.) It was difficult to make an account, because the sign-up page did not understand why someone from Minnesota would be trying to make a COVID test appointment in London. Aha! Use a VPN, come in via a British webserver, and Bob's your uncle. As they say.
It still balked at my contact info: I didn't have a proper phone number. It should be something like 03493 934 392 Zed, mate. I used a British friend's number, which meant she was awakened at 3 a.m. by a text message that said I had successfully made an account at the chemist down the street.
The appointment was made. Only one more step: Make an appointment for a test here. I ticked off that box with ease and sat back to enjoy the feeling you get when everything's sorted and ready to go.
Then I got an e-mail from Virgin, the airline whose name makes you wonder if they've ever flown a plane before: "We're so sorry, but your flight has been canceled. We've booked you on the plane for the following day."
This meant moving both COVID tests a day to the right, as well as redoing the hotel. Took awhile, but it was doable.
Two days before the test, another e-mail arrived: "We are confirming your appointment for tomorrow." Augh! Call them up. Leave a message. "No. I changed the date. If I take the test on Friday, I will be put in airport jail, or as they say at Heathrow, Airport Gaol. Well, as they spell it at Heathrow. Sounds the same, so I guess 'as they say' would be correct.' "
Ten increasingly irritated texts later, I had the new appointment confirmed. Had my nose swabbed, walked around to kill time while the results were processed. When I picked them up, the nice lady asked if I could follow her down the hall to this makeshift room.
Sure. But why are we going down the hall to a makeshift room?
Ohhhh.
The good news: My quarantine ends today, and I can start the whole process again. Which probably means a bad test result again, but as they say, think positive.
I probably should rephrase that.
