Sunday, February 28, 2010

The Life and Times of Patricia, The Cheap Old Bag Part III

My dream is to one day trounce someone in Scrabble by playing the word trounce on a triple word score. Sadly, my dream did not bloom on the “extra” evening with my parents—a gift from the airline industry. Thank you, US Airways, American Airlines and, although your part in the gift of cancelled and delayed flights was negligible, Lufthansa.

Rested and fed, I found myself sitting on a plane bound for Washington, Dulles. I began, with difficulty, to block out the boarding passengers--each with his overstuffed carry-on banging against my shoulder--and took out a Bill Bryson book. (Another dream of mine is to be able to take out a Bill Bryson book on an airplane with Bill Bryson sitting next to me and see how long it would take him to nudge me and say, “That’s me, that fusty old four-eyed goober in the picture there. That’s me.” I would play so dumb.)

A few moments later, I was staring out the window when I noticed a baggage carrier “placing” our bags onto the belt that led up to our plane. I place the word placing in quotation marks, but I’d rather thrust it into those quotation marks with the violence and resentment of this baggage carrier. He was throwing the bags on the belt. No, he was slamming them down on the belt, maybe even trouncing them there, but I’ll have to check to see if that word can be used in this way. Hmmm. Not really. No, he was trying to kill something inside each bag. The guy was angry.

Have you ever been inside a soundproof airplane when a crime was going on outside. You’re scream-mouthing No!!! No!!! because you know no one out there can hear you. You’re a bit of an idiot, of course. You look around to see if anyone else notices, but they’re all sitting there reading their Bill Bryson books like in that movie with the gremlin on the wing. I felt so helpless. Patricia was getting another beating, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.

My layover at Dulles was a whopping five hours . . . estranged from Pat. I wondered the whole time where she was, whether she was squashed in between two fat bags, stuff like that. Don’t believe me. I spent most of the time sipping wine in the Lufthansa lounge and playing Scrabble on the Internet.

The flight home was a dream. Nothing bad happened. In fact, lots of good stuff happened. Good stuff is so boring, though. Patricia is home safe and, well, not as sound as most bags; but she's a good old girl. She'll be up for a trip soon. You just wait.

I must be off,
Christopher