I am compulsive about finishing books and movies. No matter how bad they are, I finish them. This is a bad thing when trapped in an extremely confined space, such as an economy seat on a 11 hour flight. I watched three movies that made me glad I was single, or at least not in the relationship on the screen: The Last Kiss, Running With Scissors, and The Upside of Anger.
I walked into the Adult Immunization Clinic hoping the nurse would tell me I was fine, I didn’t need any shots or pills, enjoy Africa – bon voyage! As I approached the sign-in counter, I noticed a large placard heralding the new “SINGLES VACCINE.” Holy crap. Now they’re trying to rid the world of singledom, along with smallpox, polio, and tb? I did a double take, curious what the rationale behind funding such a vaccine would be. Oh. Shingles vaccine. Don’t need that one either.
I waited patiently, listening to my new iPod, loving the shuffle function – every song is a surprise! Lisa, a café au lait skinned, salt and pepper dreadlocked nurse with the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, called me back to her consultation station. We talked about where I was going, what I’d be doing, and how long I’d be gone before she made her recommendation: I needed my second dose of the hepatitis series I’d started before Cambodia and a prescription for anti-malaria prophylactics.
When I saw her tapping the needle I stammered, “I don’t like shots. I might cry, but it’s okay. I won’t pass out.” She smiled and grabbed my arm. I flinched. “I know, I know, I need to be still. I know.” My stomach was slowly rising in my throat. Why was the room spinning? She punctured my shoulder and I let out a whimper and collapsed. She withdrew the needle and pushed me to the floor with the words, “Lay on the floor.” My phobia of needles competed with my disdain of public floors. I looked into her deep brown eyes and murmured, “Seriously? You want me to lie on the floor? Right here?” She nodded and gently pushed me down. “Don’t think about how many people have walked here. Don’t think about how often they vacuum government offices. Don’t think about this is where people come to get vaccinated and immunized and droplets of live viruses are probably squirming all around you,” was what I thought. And for each “don’t” I told myself not to think about, I did.
Lisa had left, returning with cold wet paper towels and a sickingly sweet juice box that, at the moment she inserted the straw into my still-horizontal mouth, tasted like the nectar of the gods. Each time I said, “I’m okay,” she pushed me back down, urging me to rest. After several rounds of coming up, being pushed down, coming up, I stayed up. And rose (very slowly, but on my own).
I left the clinic, one shot closer to Africa.
Knowing that I always wait until the last minute to pack for international trips, and have almost not gone on two such trips because I still couldn’t find my passport within an hour of leaving for the airport, I decided to pretend I was leaving a week before I actually was. And it worked. I completely panicked, not being able to find my passport. After about an hour of pulling drawers apart, going through files, and looking in previously used bags, I found it. Now, where to put it for a week so I don’t lose it again?
On my nightstand, doubling as a coaster. Perfect. I’m so ready for Africa.
I just realized that the entire month of January is in draft form. I’ve started several entries, saved them, and never come back to them. It’s been that type of month.
To summarize, January was a month of many firsts:
More to come from Africa…
During the morning worship service at my parents’ church, there is a portion of the service deemed the “Children’s Sermon.” The little ones join a guest minister at the front of the church, sitting on the carpet, ready to listen to a parable, a story, a bible story relevant to the lesson of the day, told in language and examples that are particularly appropriate for children.
It was difficult to hear the guest minister this morning, but what I did hear caused me to pause. She started by introducing Benjamin Bunny, a bunny rabbit with a large extended rabbit family (as rabbit families are wont to be). One day the foxes came through and killed everyone in the rabbit family except for Benjamin Bunny.
At this point I glanced at my mom. She wouldn’t look at me. A Christmas story, with a massacre to start it off? Call me old fashioned, but I prefer the unwed pregnant mother-to-be beginning.
One day, Benjamin Bunny was crying in the woods (apparantly mourning the death of his entire social network) when a wolf appeared. Benjamin was sure he was going to die. At this point I’m looking at the once-sweet, now slightly terrified, faces of all the three, four, and five year olds gathered around the minister.
But the wolf is not there to kill Benjamin, he is there to offer words of wisdom. “There are many people in your family that need your help, Benjamin.” Benjamin looks at him with surprise. (I think he’s about to explain that the evil foxes wreaked rabbitcide on his family.) The wolf continues, “All the animals in the forest are your family. You have so much to offer. Look, there’s the widow squirrel (We can only assume her husband was gunned down by an evil hunter. Wait a minute, we’re in NC, hunters aren’t evil. Who’s the villian in this story?) with her six baby squirrels and nothing to eat.” Benjamin remembered some acorns he had spied earlier. He took them to the family of squirrels, no strings attached. He continued doing good deeds all throughout the day, for friends and foes alike, until he noticed a mouse freezing to death in the snow (maybe the story takes place in Denver). He offered cover to the mouse and then the wolf reappeared saying he was going to take Benjamin home to be with his loved ones.
This time I nudged mom. “Did the wolf just eat the rabbit?”
“No. He froze to death in the snow.”
I think the moral of the story was supposed to be: everyone is part of God’s family, no matter how many legs they have, so be kind to everyone and don’t expect anything in return. What I took away: beware of foxes and wear lots of layers when out in the snow.
Merry Christmas.
“Aint Looooo-ri. Aint Loooooo-ri.”
I slowly opened my eyes. I was somewhere familiar; I just couldn’t remember where. Baseball greats stared down from the walls. The huge white eyes of plastic bendable animated characters peered over me. I turned over. There stood my six year old nephew, blue eyes widened, ready for me to wake up.
“What is it, honey?” I mumbled.
“Aint Looooooooo-ri. You have to wake up,” he pleaded.
“Okay, dear, I’m getting up. Is everything okay?”
“Noooooooooo. You’re missing the pigs in a blanket.”
“Pigs in a blanket? For breakfast? You are indeed correct. I MUST get up now. Thank you, sweetie.”
When I sign in to my yahoo email account, there’s always an ad to the right side of the screen, a tall skyscraper ad, for Yahoo! Answers. Each rendition of the ad shows an animated character posing a question. It seems like for the last, oh, every time I’ve signed in, the question in the thought bubble above his head is, “What do you think happens to your soul when you die?”
This bothers me. In my life, I’ve answered this question in many different ways.
As a little girl, dying meant heaven. You donned a white robe and floated amongst the angels, playing gilded string instruments and singing in tune (this was very important, as it was something I could not do here on earth).
Then I went through a phase when I tried not to believe in God. I was skeptical. I naively thought, How could so many bad things happen on earth if there were a God? What was he doing up there? So I adopted the attitude that there is no soul. You die, you decompose, you fertilize the ground.
Then several people very close to me died. And yet they were still there. Not really there, but there in spirit. They would come to me in dreams. I would feel their presence. I would feel their guidance. Made me reconsider the whole fertilizer argument.
Now. Now I don’t know. I’ve gone from being very “everything must be black and white” to everything in my world being a thousand shades of gray. What I do know is that I don’t like being reminded of death every time I log into email.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
3:55 Waiting at gate F6 for the 4:15 flight, not the 6:48 flight. On which I am booked, not standby. Hmm. This is suspect. There is no movement towards boarding a plane.
4:20 The gate agent makes an announcement. “The plane is in the hangar, it’s on the way over, we’ll board it quickly, and have a 4:42 departure.” Awesome. Can still get home in time for dinner.
4:21 I call home. “Mom…” “Honey, we just checked the web. Your plane is delayed by 30 minutes.” I laugh. “Yep. That’s what I was calling you to tell you. You’re all over it.”
4:45 The plane leaving for Madison from the same gate has boarded, but there has been no mention of Greensboro. I look around, see several of the same people that have been here for the past hour.
4:50 “We’re just waiting for confirmation that the plane has left the hangar then we’ll board quickly and get you on your way to Greensboro. Anticipated departure time of 5:30.”
4:55 “The plane is still in the hangar. There isn’t anyone available to drive the plane to the gate.” A mixture of laughter and groans arises from the passengers waiting at gate F6 for a flight to Greensboro.
I laugh. There’s no one to drive the plane? We’re at an airport. That’s what they do. This strikes me as particularly funny.
5:05 The chatty gate agent announces he is going to lunch. We have no one to keep us informed. I’m sad to see him go.
5:06 New gate agent. There evidently wasn’t a hand-off meeting. “Hi everyone waiting to go to Greensboro. We’re going to use a plane that’s currently in our hangar. As soon as it gets here, we’ll board you and get you to Greensboro.” I wonder if anyone has told him there are no drivers available.
5:20 New gate agent announces they’ve found a taxi to take the crew to the hangar and they’ll bring the plane to the gate. Spontaneous applause erupts among passengers at F6. I feel a community building.
5:35 Chatty gate agent returns from lunch. No chatting. He is intent on the computer screen.
5:43 No plane in sight. I’m lamenting having never bought an ipod. Music would be nice right now.
5:46 As people walk by I notice there are either a lot of unfortunate fashion trends on the horizon or a lot of poorly dressed people in Chicago. Or maybe both.
5:49 Mom calls. She lets me know that they’ve updated the status of my flight on the web. Departure time 6:21 pm. Arrival time 9:18 pm. Hey! Chatty gate agent! Why haven’t you told us this yet???
5:58 “We’re waiting for the plane to come from the hangar. The crew has been sent over there to get it, but no one has heard from them. We were set for a 6:21 departure, but that obviously won’t happen because we don’t have a plane here.” Way to state the obvious. No applause this time.
6:02 I realize I haven’t eaten all day. Should I get fast food here in the airport and potentially ruin my appetite? I still have hope I’m going to dinner with mom and dad. I wait.
6:05 I look at the marquis behind the gate agent. It still says “UA 7324 Greensboro 5:03. United Thanks You”. They need to change that. That’s just wrong.
6:06 Wow. They just changed the board. Do I have magical powers I don’t know about? It now says “UA 7324 6:32 Greensboro” followed by UA 7161 7:36 Saginaw/Baycty.” Where the heck is Saginaw?
6:09 The gate agent has announced the plane has made it to the gate. Spontaneous applause. He hesitates, turns around, looks out the dark window and says, “Wait a minute. I just want to verify that.” And indeed the airplane is there. Yay! I will not be spending the night on the floor of OHare!
6:24 We’re still waiting. Masses of people are hovering near the gate, even though no boarding invitations have been extended.
6:50 We board. I am finally beginning the last leg of my trip. The man in the seat beside me is so excited to be leaving OHare he buys me a celebratory drink. The flight is festive. Goodbye, Chicago!
Anytime someone says these words, I have to laugh. Usually out loud. The gate agent/transportation coordinator/woman in uniform said these words to the man in front of me when he asked where terminal “F” was. In fact, she said, “Go up these stairs, turn around, walk straight past McDonald’s, look for an alley on the left, you can’t miss it. Terminal F.” In my head I was thinking, “Actually he probably can miss it. So many things can be missed. Let’s make a list.
Missed connection, flight (see below) or otherwise. Craig has capitalized on this.
Missed opportunity.
Missed call.
Missed reservation.
Missed period.
Missed class.
Missed love.”
I just missed my connection. It was there. I saw it. I ran across two terminals (heels in hand for better speed) because the agent had told me as I exited from my San Franicsco flight, “You’ve got plenty of time — at least 12 minutes. You can’t miss it.”
I arrived, breathless (note to self: start going to gym), just as they closed the door.
(heavy pant) “The flight to Greensboro? Can, can I still get on?” (heavy pant)
“Nope. The door’s closed.”
(less heavy pant, heart rate is dropping to, oh, 150 beats per minute) “I see that. Can’t you open it? I see the plane.”
“Nope. The door’s closed. Once the door is closed, no one else can get on.”
I smiled. No reason to be nasty. “But, the plane is still there. I see it. See? Look. There it is. Seat 6D is just waiting for me. Please don’t disappoint 6D.”
She didn’t appreciate my humor. “You’re rebooked on the 6:48 flight. Gate B22.”
The exact same gate I had arrived at from San Francisco. The exact same gate, two terminals away, that takes 8 minutes to reach running at a decent sprint (laptop and purse in tow). Tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t want to be on the 6:48 flight. I wanted to be on the flight that I was staring at, that still had 4 minutes till departure time.
It pulled away from the gate. A tear rolled down my cheek. No dinner with mom and dad tonight. No last minute Christmas shopping. No Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the way home from the airport. Okay, well we could still have the dougnuts; they’re open all night.
My plane had left, what were my options? Surely there was a flight before 6:48. That was 6 hours away. I mean, I know NC is remote, but come on. I checked the boards. Yes, there was another flight. At 4:15. I walked, took a bus, went up stairs, wandered past McDonald’s and arrived at Terminal F, gate F9. The gate agent didn’t look happy to be there.
“Hi! I’ve just missed my flight. Is there any possibility I could fly standby on the 4:15 flight?”
He took my boarding pass and tapped, tapped, tapped into the computer. “Nope.”
“Nope? It’s fully booked? Oh….”
“Nope, you’re not flying standby because I’ve booked you a seat.”
Yippee! Yay for me! As I put my boarding pass in my purse, I found a Red Carpet Club pass I hadn’t used. O’Hare, you’re not looking so bad after all. Merry Christmas.
LoriLoo 