After my five and a half/seven hour flight to Manchester, it was a quick ten minute ride to the Copthorne hotel. My main objective for the day was to get my cell phone unlocked, allowing me to use a UK SIM card, which is cheaper than using Cingular. Coming across Guinness would just be a bonus.

I called Abi’s room, but mysteriously there was no answer. So, I made arrangements to meet another friend nicknamed Shroder in the Copthorne lobby. I quickly showered and headed down. Arriving a few minutes early, I grabbed a British newspaper and waited. Suddenly, my reading about Paris Hilton’s fabulous visit to Manchester was interrupted by the blaring WEEE–OOOOP!! WEE–OOOOOOP!! WEE–OOOOOOP!! of the hotel fire alarm. I chuckled as people started running for the door.

This was actually the second fire alarm ‘scare’ for me that week. Last Wednesday in the Providence airport as I was waiting for my luggage, suddenly I heard BEE-DOOOOO!! BEE-DOOOOO!! BEE-DOOOOO!! Exciting flashing lights lit the walls, and… nobody did anything. People stared blankly at the non-moving luggage rack, waiting. After a short while of this drama, airport personnel made the following announcement: “For those passengers on Delta Flight 44 waiting for their luggage, the luggage belt will not operate until the fire alarm is cleared. Thanks for your patience.”

I doubt it ever even occurred to anyone that there was a possibility the airport was on fire. The same idea failed to occur to me as I was waiting in the Copthorne lobby, casually reading the paper. The hotel manager came rushing over to me with a serious look and said, “Sir! That’s the FIRE ALARM!”

“I know, I hear it. Can you turn it off? It’s making it hard to read.”

Horrified, he practically screamed, “Sir! You MUST leave the premises AT ONCE!”

Ok, I could see that Mr. Bean was going to hover nervously until I left the premises, so, reluctantly I did. Soon two fire trucks screamed into the parking lot, firemen scrambled out of the truck in full fireman gear, readying axes and hoses and nozzles and other fun looking fire fighting tools, and rushed into the building. How exciting!

Unfortunately, three minutes later they came back out. Mr. Bean told the anxious crowd all was clear, we could come back in. False alarm!

I’d noticed that throughout all the excitement, Shroder was nowhere to be found. Ten minutes later he finally wandered into the lobby. I had to ask him if he’d even heard the fire alarm.

“Hear it? Yeah I heard it. I set the fucking thing off by showering with my bathroom door open! Who knew? Then I was standing there dripping when some lady starts pounding on the door screaming how she had to come in and check the room. I told her I was naked and to wait until I at least grabbed a towel. She came in and looked for a fire. This place is stupid.”

I have to agree, if shower steam can set off a fire alarm… that kind of thing must happen at the Copthorne every day. You’d think the hotel would fix that.

We took a cab to City Center in search of one of the little wizards that have mastered the dark illicit art of phone unlocking. I was amazed at how unique downtown Manchester is:

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in Cleveland. I did like this store though:

I asked a few people where I might be able to get my phone unlocked, and most reacted as if I had asked where I could score some crack. The same thing happened the last time I tried to get my phone unlocked. People literally gasp then say it can’t be done.

But the thing is, there are stores in every British city with huge “Phone Unlocking” signs out front. I knew if I wandered through this Cleveland-esque city long enough I would find one.

I passed a few street musicians that were quite good, especially this one man band. It’s a little hard to see, but he had a mallet attached to his hat, and would hit a cymbal by nodding his head in time with the beat.

Besides the obvious American influence, Manchester does have its fair share of old cathedrals and, of course, a Ferris wheel.

And finally, I saw this place that made me laugh. Would you really get a tattoo here?

Finally, I found a store that could unlock my phone for ten British pounds. Surprisingly, it was very easy after the ordeal of actually finding the place. Shroder and I decided to rehydrate in a local sports pub, where the gaily named Man City was playing Newcastle in a spirited soccer match.

As we were enjoying our refreshments, someone came up to Shroder and said, “Marrd ah leeng harrfh?” At least that is what it sounded like. We both stared at the guy blankly. He repeated, “Marrd ah leeng harrfh?” with a quizzical look on his face.

Shroder, trying to be helpful offered the score of the game. “Uh, it’s zero zero.” The guy gave me a look that said, ‘Are you possibly less retarded than this bloke?’ When I shrugged my shoulder, he went off to annoy someone else, who promptly answered his question.

After lunch, we retrieved my newly unlocked phone. I tried to call Abi’s UK number, but it wasn’t in service. Strange. The cab ride back to the Copthorne cost more than phone surgery did. The cab driver turned on a microphone up front and hacked and coughed at us through the speakers in the back the whole trip.

Safely back at the Copthorne, I took a well needed nap to rest up for the evening’s activities.

I’m off to Ireland now for a few days of Guinness therapy. Not sure what the internet access will be like, so it may be a few days until I can finish this boring saga.

Author: frenchy

One Response to “Manchester – Day 1 Part 1”

1. Tami says:

   November 25, 2006 at 7:24 PM

   Haha! This saga is anything but boring! Funny stuff!

   Reply