09 July 2013
Story #682
R. Linda:
I don't know why I'm writing this to you when you're sitting on me porch with Tonya, drinking Mojitos and plotting what to do to Gabe next. But just because I'm used to writing to you on my blog, I can't seem to break the habit. I'll just make you read this later . . . because I can.
Where to start? (Because I need to get this off me chest.) Oh yeah, the airport. What I wanna know is why you booked a red-eye flight to Logan? The only good thing about driving into Boston that late at night is that there be no real traffic. I was down there an hour early because I forgot that minor detail. So I sat around and walked around, and the transit police started to watch me because I was loitering. Yup, who goes luggage-less to an airport and just hangs around? Oh yeah, right, that guy Snowden.
It seemed about me twentieth stroll from one end of the concourse of Terminal E to the other, that I must have looked suspicious, and I do recall, on my twelfth stroll, I had two transit police following me at a distance. On me sixteenth, I had picked up four more, and by the twentieth, there were seven. This unnerved me, so I stepped into a Dunken Donuts, no queue (well, it was near 1:30 a.m., and there wouldn't be), and the officers were all lined up in a row outside watching me whilst talking amongst themselves. Probably wondering where I was going next.
I ended up ordering several cups of coffee to keep me eyelids from drooping, and it was after me tenth cup that I realised some of the officers had gone away. I had only three watching, well, that's not exactly right, I had one in Dunks ordering coffee and doughnuts, so there were really four.
I was floating in coffee, and it was about ten minutes to two when your plane was expected, so I cleaned up all me cups and headed out, as the four officers did the same, right on me heels. I tell ya. I finally turned around and said, "WOT?" with my arms out from me sides so they could see I was unarmed.
"Wheah ya goin' buddy?" One asked in a thick Boston accent.
"Ta meet a parsun arrivin' from Denver." I said in me best Irish, "Why officer is dere a problem?"
"Wheah ya from? Ya talk funny English." He asked.
"Oi! No, I be Oirish." It was just out of me mouth when I realised it was the wrong answer. Immediately, I saw hands go to pistols. Yup, big bad Gabe, IRA man for sure. Oi, oi, oi!
I saw one named O'Flannery, then I looked at the next one, Kelly, and the next one, Keegan, and the last one, Dempsey. I was like REALLY GUYS? Four Irishmen!
"Why ah ya heah?" O'Flannery asked.
"I'm producin' a film called Revenge of da Hobbits an' me leadin' star be coomin' in on dis flight, 'ere see Flight 2237 Southwest Airlines." I pointed to the lit board above me head.
They did NOT believe me. I could read it on their faces; they were sceptical. I sighed.
"Anyting else?" I asked.
"Nope, nuthin'," O'Flannery said.
I turned and went to wait for you as a disembodied voice said over the loudspeaker, "Southwest Flight 2237 from Denver has arrived at Gate E1A."
I could see the four of them discussing me from a wee distance. Suddenly, there were all these people streaming through on their way to baggage retrieval, and I was looking for you, standing on me tiptoes when I realised I should be on me knees, no, actually, all fours, looking through the passing legs to find the one very short person that was YOU.
Of course, that is what I did, and the officers all started forward, wondering what I was up to. But before they could get to me, I saw you. You came toward the glass that separated us and pressed your nose up against it, and I waved. Me stalkers stopped short seeing this, and I guess they finally believed me when they saw the size of you. Short!
I got up off me knees and turned toward them. "Eh?" I said, pointing over me shoulder at you, your face still pressed against the glass, looking very scary.
"Uh, yeah." They said, and turned, walking off, shaking their heads and talking about us. I knew they were; it was so obvious.
I sighed and waited for you to get around the partition, and you, being you, came running with arms out for a hug, I knew I had to go to me knees or you'd be hugging me shins so down I went feeling very silly but then there you were in me arms laughing and hugging. Yes, it was quite the moment until I realised you were drooling. I pulled back and asked you what you were doing.
"I'm drooling over your fine self, I am making up for all the old bats in Anglochat that won't ever get the chance."
I got up thinking how demented this was all starting to be. I felt like I should take your hand and lead you to baggage retrieval, but we both agreed that would look like father and hobbit, so we opted (I to take baby steps) while you walked normally in your short stride to where the conveyor belt was busy spitting out luggage.
"Which bag is it?" I asked, watching all the bags go round and round, and you just stood there, as if they could continue to do that forever, and you wouldn't move to retrieve one. I did notice you looking up at me like I had two heads, but I didn't question it. I don't know why I didn't, I should have, but finally, I couldn't take the baggage rotation that was on the seventh go-round.
"Okay, none of these are yours?" I said, looking at the screen that said Southwest Flight 2237.
"Nope. Notta one." You said with a sigh.
"Well, maybe in a minute they'll throw some more on the conveyor belt," I said, trying to be positive and hoping your luggage wasn't lost or worse, on its way to New Zealand.
"I don't know why." You said, heaving another sigh.
I thought that an odd remark, and I looked enquiringly down at you.
"THIS," you held up a small carry-on bag, "is all I need."
I thought that was ridiculous and said before we left that I'd stop at the Southwest counter and lodge a lost luggage claim.
"I don't know why you'd do that." You said, scratching your head.
"WHY? Because you do want your luggage eventually, right?"
"I have my luggage." You said again, holding up the carry-on. "I don't know why we are here because this is all I brought with me! This," you gesture to the baggage area, "WAS YOUR IDEA."
Oi!!!
Without a word, I gestured to you first as you turned and we left the baggage area, you looking bored and me near exasperation. Was this how it was going to be?
Stay tuned.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I don't know why I'm writing this to you when you're sitting on me porch with Tonya, drinking Mojitos and plotting what to do to Gabe next. But just because I'm used to writing to you on my blog, I can't seem to break the habit. I'll just make you read this later . . . because I can.
Where to start? (Because I need to get this off me chest.) Oh yeah, the airport. What I wanna know is why you booked a red-eye flight to Logan? The only good thing about driving into Boston that late at night is that there be no real traffic. I was down there an hour early because I forgot that minor detail. So I sat around and walked around, and the transit police started to watch me because I was loitering. Yup, who goes luggage-less to an airport and just hangs around? Oh yeah, right, that guy Snowden.
It seemed about me twentieth stroll from one end of the concourse of Terminal E to the other, that I must have looked suspicious, and I do recall, on my twelfth stroll, I had two transit police following me at a distance. On me sixteenth, I had picked up four more, and by the twentieth, there were seven. This unnerved me, so I stepped into a Dunken Donuts, no queue (well, it was near 1:30 a.m., and there wouldn't be), and the officers were all lined up in a row outside watching me whilst talking amongst themselves. Probably wondering where I was going next.
I ended up ordering several cups of coffee to keep me eyelids from drooping, and it was after me tenth cup that I realised some of the officers had gone away. I had only three watching, well, that's not exactly right, I had one in Dunks ordering coffee and doughnuts, so there were really four.
I was floating in coffee, and it was about ten minutes to two when your plane was expected, so I cleaned up all me cups and headed out, as the four officers did the same, right on me heels. I tell ya. I finally turned around and said, "WOT?" with my arms out from me sides so they could see I was unarmed.
"Wheah ya goin' buddy?" One asked in a thick Boston accent.
"Ta meet a parsun arrivin' from Denver." I said in me best Irish, "Why officer is dere a problem?"
"Wheah ya from? Ya talk funny English." He asked.
"Oi! No, I be Oirish." It was just out of me mouth when I realised it was the wrong answer. Immediately, I saw hands go to pistols. Yup, big bad Gabe, IRA man for sure. Oi, oi, oi!
I saw one named O'Flannery, then I looked at the next one, Kelly, and the next one, Keegan, and the last one, Dempsey. I was like REALLY GUYS? Four Irishmen!
"Why ah ya heah?" O'Flannery asked.
"I'm producin' a film called Revenge of da Hobbits an' me leadin' star be coomin' in on dis flight, 'ere see Flight 2237 Southwest Airlines." I pointed to the lit board above me head.
They did NOT believe me. I could read it on their faces; they were sceptical. I sighed.
"Anyting else?" I asked.
"Nope, nuthin'," O'Flannery said.
I turned and went to wait for you as a disembodied voice said over the loudspeaker, "Southwest Flight 2237 from Denver has arrived at Gate E1A."
I could see the four of them discussing me from a wee distance. Suddenly, there were all these people streaming through on their way to baggage retrieval, and I was looking for you, standing on me tiptoes when I realised I should be on me knees, no, actually, all fours, looking through the passing legs to find the one very short person that was YOU.
Of course, that is what I did, and the officers all started forward, wondering what I was up to. But before they could get to me, I saw you. You came toward the glass that separated us and pressed your nose up against it, and I waved. Me stalkers stopped short seeing this, and I guess they finally believed me when they saw the size of you. Short!
I got up off me knees and turned toward them. "Eh?" I said, pointing over me shoulder at you, your face still pressed against the glass, looking very scary.
"Uh, yeah." They said, and turned, walking off, shaking their heads and talking about us. I knew they were; it was so obvious.
I sighed and waited for you to get around the partition, and you, being you, came running with arms out for a hug, I knew I had to go to me knees or you'd be hugging me shins so down I went feeling very silly but then there you were in me arms laughing and hugging. Yes, it was quite the moment until I realised you were drooling. I pulled back and asked you what you were doing.
"I'm drooling over your fine self, I am making up for all the old bats in Anglochat that won't ever get the chance."
I got up thinking how demented this was all starting to be. I felt like I should take your hand and lead you to baggage retrieval, but we both agreed that would look like father and hobbit, so we opted (I to take baby steps) while you walked normally in your short stride to where the conveyor belt was busy spitting out luggage.
"Which bag is it?" I asked, watching all the bags go round and round, and you just stood there, as if they could continue to do that forever, and you wouldn't move to retrieve one. I did notice you looking up at me like I had two heads, but I didn't question it. I don't know why I didn't, I should have, but finally, I couldn't take the baggage rotation that was on the seventh go-round.
"Okay, none of these are yours?" I said, looking at the screen that said Southwest Flight 2237.
"Nope. Notta one." You said with a sigh.
"Well, maybe in a minute they'll throw some more on the conveyor belt," I said, trying to be positive and hoping your luggage wasn't lost or worse, on its way to New Zealand.
"I don't know why." You said, heaving another sigh.
I thought that an odd remark, and I looked enquiringly down at you.
"THIS," you held up a small carry-on bag, "is all I need."
I thought that was ridiculous and said before we left that I'd stop at the Southwest counter and lodge a lost luggage claim.
"I don't know why you'd do that." You said, scratching your head.
"WHY? Because you do want your luggage eventually, right?"
"I have my luggage." You said again, holding up the carry-on. "I don't know why we are here because this is all I brought with me! This," you gesture to the baggage area, "WAS YOUR IDEA."
Oi!!!
Without a word, I gestured to you first as you turned and we left the baggage area, you looking bored and me near exasperation. Was this how it was going to be?
Stay tuned.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
