Corded Phones, Airplane Bullies, and Standing My Ground in Casablanca- Spain & Morocco Part 3
I recently went on a trip to Spain and Morocco that turned out to be one of the hardest experiences I’ve had in a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll continue sharing the lessons and stories that came out of it. My intent is not to rehash the drama, but to explore the human experience when life doesn’t go the way we planned.
Sometimes the most beautiful growth hides inside the messiest moments.
These posts will be written in a more personal, I/Me storytelling style, but no matter where you live, where you’ve traveled, or what you’re walking through right now, I think you’ll find a piece of your own story in mine.
They’ll be a bit longer than usual, but don’t worry, here is the link to the audio version if you’d rather listen.
Casablanca has raw city vibes, and once again, I become nostalgic about Chicago. The energy of a big city can be energizing…until it wears you down. I won’t be in Casablanca long enough to have that happen here, though. Luckily, it’s a short cab ride to the Hilton in the city center. The lobby has a regal vibe, and even though I will only be here overnight, I relish the energy of the hotel.
As I am checking in, the credit card reader isn’t working. “It’s no problem, we’ll swipe it in the morning when you check out,” the man at the desk tells me.
My only priorities for the rest of the day are eating and showering. Because I want to eat before showering and don’t feel comfortable feeling gross at the hotel restaurant, I order room service instead. The sun has started setting, but I can still see the view from the room.
Man, this city is old.
Casablanca city center looks less poverty-stricken than the surrounding rural areas I viewed from the train, but it looks very aged. Yet, there is special energy about being in a historical location.
After eating my room service, I take a comforting, hot shower, which feels extra refreshing after a long day of traveling. After beating myself up for making a few mistakes, I feel proud of myself for making it to the hotel at the originally planned time. If I figured out the logistics of today, I can figure out anything. This empowerment is interrupted by the room telephone ringing.
Don’t answer it. You need to relax.
Curiosity killed the cat. I answer the phone. “Hello?”
I am met with a stern, deep voice, “Hello, Ms. Hawkins, you need to come down and give us your credit card. We don’t have it on file.”
Oh my God, leave me alone. I am trying to relax.
“Hi, yeah, the guy who was working earlier said the credit card reader wasn’t working and you could swipe it in the morning.”
“You need to come down now.”
“I just took a shower. I’m not leaving my room tonight.”
“You need to come down now and give us your credit card.”
I suddenly become aware of the tightness in my chest. I should have listened to my intuition.
What kind of customer service is this? It’s not my problem that the card reader wasn’t working. It’s not my problem if the shift changed and the other guy didn’t communicate with this guy.
“I had to provide my credit card to reserve this room online, so you can use that card for the room.”
“We don’t have that card.”
“It was the one I used to book the room.”
“We don’t have it.”
It’s not my problem that their booking system is dysfunctional.
“I can give you my credit card number over the phone.”
“I can’t take it over the phone. I need you to come down.”
It’s not my problem that they can’t take my credit card number over the phone in the year 2025, which is the most technologically advanced year ever. Speaking of, why am I talking on a corded phone? Why do these things still exist?
I can feel the recovering people-pleaser inside of me wanting to go down to the lobby to appease him. But the thing is, the core root of this problem is that the credit card reader wasn’t working earlier, and that guy didn’t communicate that to this guy. Neither of those things is my problem, and he is trying to make it my problem. I don’t absorb other people’s problems.
“I am not available to come down tonight. I can give you my card number over the phone, or I can come down in the morning when I check out.” I feel like these are two reasonable solutions to his problem.
“Okay.” He hangs up abruptly, clearly irritated.
I should be relieved, but now my heart rate is up because I’m anxious.
This is a hotel! He should know I want to rest. He should know that the card reader wasn’t working earlier. The other guy should have told him! I can’t believe he had the nerve to call me in my room for this.
Breathe. It’s not your problem. You can give them your credit card in the morning. Just get some sleep.
The recovering people-pleaser inside of me is nagging me to feel guilty.
What if he gets in trouble for not having a card on file?
Nobody is going to get into trouble unless you leave without paying. You are going to pay for the room before you leave tomorrow. They don’t need your credit card right now.
Many former versions of me didn’t speak up for myself, so I am proud of myself for using my voice and having boundaries because all I want to do right now is relax and go to bed.
I silently thank myself for protecting my peace.
The Casablanca airport is weird. After paying for my hotel room with my credit card on a swiper that was working, I asked my driver to drop me off at the domestic terminal at the airport. This local Moroccan airline doesn’t offer online check-in, so I need to physically check in, which I quickly find out requires me to walk over to the other terminal, which I assume is the international terminal. When I get to check in at the international terminal, I wait in line only for the guy to tell me that I have to use the kiosks. I use the kiosk to check in and get my boarding pass, then I walk back over to the domestic terminal and hand my boarding pass to the guy standing at the security entrance.
“You’re in the wrong terminal,” he says while gesturing to the other terminal.
What the hell?
As I walk toward the other terminal, I walk slowly and check out some of the signs along the way. That’s when I realize that, yes, there are two terminals, but they aren’t distinct by international and domestic, or even by airline. There are randomly two terminals, and you are somehow expected to figure out which one you are supposed to use. I wonder why my driver didn’t say anything when I specifically mentioned the domestic terminal. Luckily, the walk between the two terminals isn’t long, but the whole thing is so weird and embarrassing, since I have been unnecessarily walking back and forth.
I’m also disappointed by this airport because I wanted to buy a sweatshirt, as I think Imsouane is going to be colder than I anticipated. But there are no retail stores. And there is only one little stand to buy coffee.
At least this flight is only an hour, and I don’t have to worry about itinerary mistakes today.
The middle seat in my row is still empty. Shortly before take-off, a woman approaches me in the aisle. “Can I sit there?” she says, gesturing to the middle seat. “That’s my daughter.”
I look over at the pre-teen girl at the window seat and then back at the lady. “Sure, that’s fine.”
Shortly after take-off, the lady takes off her shoes and crosses her legs over her daughter’s legs. Doing this causes her entire torso to twist in the seat, which wouldn’t be a big deal, except she is leaning back and encroaching on the space in my seat and leaning up against my body.
I tap her on the shoulder. “Can you please not lean on me?”
She obliges and sits up. About five minutes later, she turns to me, “I have really bad nerve pain and need to stretch out. Can you please move seats?”
“This is my seat.”
“You can sit in my seat.”
“This is my seat.” I always intentionally choose my seats when purchasing airfare so that I know I can have the seat I want and don’t have to deal with this kind of bullshit once I am on the plane.
It’s not my problem that she didn’t plan ahead of time to accommodate her daughter and nerve pain.
“My seat is in the aisle too. You can have that seat,” she says.
“Then you can sit there and stretch out.”
“But I want to sit by my daughter.”
I am so stunned that I have to take a second to process what is happening. She came into this row of seats like a tornado and then demanded that I leave the seat that I intentionally purchased.
Oh hell no. You can stretch out or sit by your daughter, but you can’t have both, especially if you didn’t think of this ahead of time on a flight that isn’t even full.
“This is my seat. You are free to move if you are not comfortable.” This time, my inner recovering people-pleaser is silenced by my inner Super Woman. I feel like I’m being bullied, and that is not okay. My mom was my first bully, and my last manager in Corporate America bullied me so badly that she is the reason why I left and started my own business.
This woman is trying to make her problems my problems. I don’t take on other people’s chaos anymore.
I can overhear her furiously talking to her daughter in another language. She probably assumed I was going to be a pushover. Old Me was a pushover. New Me isn’t afraid to stand up for myself.
After a few minutes, they both relocate to seats further back on the plane, leaving me with the entire row for the rest of the flight. But I can’t relax because I am so worked up about what happened.
Why was she bullying me? Why is everyone against me in Morocco?
You are not a victim. She is the way she is, and it has nothing to do with who you are as a person. Your boundaries are amazing. I am so proud of you.
I feel empowered, yet my intuition whispers, slightly foreboding, urging me to stay alert.
Keep using your voice.
This is still only the beginning of my trip, and every situation feels like a test. I can feel it clearly now - this trip is about more than just surfing.
Will I shrink back into who I used to be, or keep choosing my voice and myself?
(To be continued in Part 4)
Glow Tip:
Speaking your truth isn’t always comfortable or convenient for others.
And that’s okay.
Sometimes it’s saying “no” to hotel chaos, keeping your plane seat, or holding your ground when someone assumes you’ll cave.
For too long, I people-pleased, thinking my worth depended on being “nice” or smoothing over messes. Speaking up felt unsafe. Saying “no” felt selfish.
Here’s the truth: your boundaries are there to protect you, and your voice matters. Using them isn’t selfish. It’s the highest act of self-love and self-respect.
Next time someone tries to push you around: Pause. Breathe. Whisper, “I hear you. But this is my space. My voice matters.”
If someone is making you uncomfortable, it isn’t your job to make them comfortable. You are not responsible for managing anybody else’s emotional reactions. If that has been your role, this is your wake-up call to stop performing.
Claiming your space, using your voice, and refusing to shrink for anyone is how you glow.
Video version
Ready to stop bending over backward for everyone else and start standing up for yourself?
You’ve spent a lifetime people-pleasing, overthinking every word, smoothing over every “mistake,” and calling it self-improvement. You’ve dimmed your voice to make others comfortable, all while telling yourself it’s for “love” or “harmony.”
But here’s the truth: speaking your truth and protecting your boundaries is your ultimate glow-up.
The more you honor yourself, the stronger you become.
The more you use your voice, the freer you feel.
The more you stop saying yes when you mean no, the more life starts respecting you, and reflecting your power back.
If you’re done sacrificing your peace to make everyone else happy…
If you’re craving confidence instead of approval…
If you’re ready to lead with courage, clarity, and that fierce, magnetic power that says I set the rules for my life…
Then it’s time to book your free Find Your Glow session.
👉 https://www.runninginslippers.com/work-with-me
Here’s what you’ll get:
Clarity – Identify the hidden patterns blocking your confidence, connection, and joy.
Compassion – Gently reconnect with your emotions and inner voice (without judgment).
Confidence – Leave with a personalized next-step plan to reignite your glow.
Because glowing isn’t about pleasing everyone, it’s about showing up fully as yourself.
With love and fire,
Angie
