08 November, 2009

Me Cousin Sean And Me Sore Legs

28 March 2003
24

R. Linda:

Me cousin Sean arrived to spend a week here. He has a girlfriend who moved to Boston two years ago, and they have kept up correspondence by snail mail until me cousin complained he wasn't much of a letter writer. That started the costly transatlantic calls which finally broke them both. They decided to get email accounts and have been not only writing emails but IMing, PRs -- all of it.

Seems that love through the Internet has not dampened their spirits and the two remain faithful (as far as they tell each other and everyone else), to each other in heart and long-distance commitment. All this has brought about sighs on both sides of the pond and yearning hearts and dreams of soft kisses and romance, as you might suspect it would.

Sean saved his money and with the airline deals the way they are, he got himself a good price on a round-trip ticket. Since 9/11 you can fly back and forth as a potential terrorist target for practically nothing if you have the steel and bollocks to do it. Well, seems Sean does and lo and behold (or is that lo and begorrah?), he arrived Wednesday. I went to Logan to pick him up by borrowing me neighbour's two-seater bicycle since neither she, nor I, have a car.

Try flying down the tunnel on a bicycle with all that traffic honking at your arse as you peddle for all you're worth. It was an experience I can tell you that! And tolls, they didn't know what to charge, so I was told to pay as if I were a car. I did because I didn't want to be late and I was too pooped to care. I handed over me dollar and off I went with the same thing, honk, honk, honk behind me as I peddled me feet off trying to go as fast as a car; I fell a wee bit short of 2 miles per hour. It's been a long time since I have peddled meself anywhere on a highway, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I have never done the like of that before, so was all new to me.

I got to the airport after waiting me turn in bumper-to-bicycle traffic, inching meself up thinking because I have a  bicycle and not a motorcar, I could cheat and go around them. Well, I did try that manoeuvre once and got all kinds of body language in the use of the hands and the filth that came out of the mouths of people I don't know, don't care to know, and hope never to see again, was enough to put hair on the back of Saint Patrick's snake.

Once the traffic started moving, I got meself moving as well and to the terminal. There was a little scuffle about me bicycle, but I pointed out to Mr. Policeman there were no signs that said I couldn't take it inside with me. Well, he begged to differ with me and I was escorted to a room where they had two more Mr. Policemen and I was asked what me game was. I told them I was there to pick up me sainted cousin Sean and what was wrong with that? They didn't believe me. They said I was peddling terror on a bicycle and until I gave them a plausible explanation I'd have to sit there and be subject to their questioning.

I clammed up I did, but not before I said I had nothing to say because it was obvious what me intent was, and I had peddled all the way to Logan Airport from midtown and I was pooped and if they couldn't see that, then throw me in the nick, but don't lose the bicycle because it didn't belong to me. That statement made them look at each other and then they accused me of stealing someone's bicycle. I flapped me jaws until they hurt giving over me neighbour's name and phone number, so they could ring her up and see I didn't steal the fecking bike. They did! I was embarrassed they did. They asked her if she knew I was using the bike to pick up someone at the airport. She was laughing so loud I could hear her clearly from the other side of the room!

It didn't end there. Before they'd let me go anywhere with the bike, they took me to a metal detector where all the alarms went off from the metal on me borrowed bicycle. What did they expect? And because I was standing in the detector holding the bicycle I had to be searched for more metal!

This, turned up not a thing just the bicycle and me house keys, which I had out in the open where they all could see, keys and bike were there in plain sight, and what the feck was the problem NOW? Well, as you might imagine this said out in public with a crowd gathering wasn't a good thing in their eyes. But as they poked at me, the crowd started to yell at them and cheer me on. The police told me no one in their right mind would peddle a two-seater bicycle from Midtown Boston, through the tunnel and into the airport to pick someone up.

I looked at them and said, "I would, and I did!" I got uproarious applause from the crowd.

"And you're going to peddle back with your cousin, on the bicycle, back to midtown . . . with luggage?"

"True," I stated with emphasis, me arms crossed over me chest, me bike leaning next to me spandex wearing torso, all the while trying to look defiant, the crowd going wild.

The policemen started laughing, and I rolled me eyes and shook me head until they were done. The crowd didn't like their reaction and started with catcalls that would make a construction worker stop and take pause. I will say the Beantown lot was a rowdy bunch.

I noticed the first Mr. Policeman was a Mulroony. I looked at the other two and one was a Philipano, and the other a Sullivan! Saints preserve me, a Sullivan is close enough to an O'Sullivan and I pointed this out and made like he was me kin long distance and all the men in the family were police people, even me Mam who was a matron. Ok, I lied me arse off but they bought it. I was accompanied to Aer Lingus where me sainted cous was waiting, luggage at his side.

"What's all this then?" Asks he, looking from me to the police to the crowd that followed us.

"Me friends in the police department are going to give us an escort seeing you're from the old country and all, as a way of welcome, and these," I gestured to the crowd, "are a few of me very dear friends."

They all smiled with toothy grins except Philipano who was bent over laughing so hard I thought he'd wet himself and hoped he would. The crowd clapped and me cousin had a broad stupid smile on his foolish face and he was waving at them for all he was worth thinking what I told him was the truth.

Sean has no clue what they do in America and I think he's better off left in the dark. He reminds me of Dougal on the Father Ted show . . . a lot. I say nothing, just let him live the dream. He told everyone that's come to visit about the police escort we had and the big turnout of all me friends. Me neighbour Tonya goes into fits over that, but hasn't burst his bubble by telling him they thought we were either, 1. IRA members on a two-seater bicycle going to blow up the airport or midtown, or both, or 2. two stupid Irishmen who can't drive a car, or 3. two buffoons without brains from the old country where they don't have cars (because that's what they told me. They said, "Mr. O'Sullivan don't they have cars where you come from?" When I hesitated because I thought it was a trick question, they thought I was lying when I finally answered, "Yes, yes we do.")

I be suffering from sore muscles in me thighs, and shin splints in me calves, and God knows the humiliation! But that's not so bad, as the thought of the bicycle ride back to Logan later in the week.

Gabe
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