Friday September 19th marks the 5th anniversary of our flying to Long Island New York to await the birth of our daughter. She will likely be born by the time we get settled into our motel room. Where's that spooky music coming from?
Starting at page 105:
“Airplane travel. All those stand-up comedians are right, you know. How can I add to the litany of complaints made by guys in sport coats in smoky rooms saying, “What’s the deal with flying?”
Get in line to have your luggage irradiated and your anal cavity inspected. Get in line to get your line ticket. Get in line to get in the airplane. Wedge yourself next to a man with pointy elbows and body odor. Drink your shot glass of Coca-cola. Eat the 6 peanuts from the sealed snack bag. Try not to sneeze on the bald head of the guy in front of you whose seat is pushed back to your chest. Wish the guy in back of you who has been talking since he sat down would have a stroke. All while hoping you don’t die ablaze in a corn field.
…
(Seated in front of us) …were two men in their twenties roaring drunk and talking as if they were sitting in a bowling alley next to the ball return. They discussed baseball, football, hockey, then back to baseball. They asked the stewardess for drink after drink.
By the end of the two-hour flight they sucked the plane’s stock dry. Imagine if this were a movie - each would be played by an obnoxious Vince Vaughn in a split-screen. That comes close. One guy had a voice very much like Vaughn’s from “Wedding
Crashers”.
They had a three-seat row to themselves – no one sat between them. Good lord, who would want to? Maybe they did that on purpose: act as loud and obnoxious as possible and you get a row to yourself.
After an hour they eventually turned into Charlie Brown adults. “Wah-wah, wah wah-wah-wah.” I leaned my head against the window to watch the world pass underneath hoping to drown them out.
It worked somewhat – the trouble was now I could hear the old man behind me.
The Describer.
For the next hour the gentleman behind me described the landscape to (presumably) his wife sitting next to him. Every few seconds a low raspy voice would sound out…
“There’s a bean field.”
“There’s a baseball field.”
“That house has a swimming pool.”
“There’s the Atlantic Ocean.” Ah, that’s what that big blue wobbly thing going to the horizon was …
We both brought paperback books to read for the trip, and Esther managed to read peacefully. I barely managed two pages.
<read read> “wah-wah-wah, wah-wah”
<read read> “that must be the Potomac”
Hell. Hell, I tell you! I was never more eager to get out of a plane. But de-boarding provided no solace. As with any airline trip, the same yahoos sitting around you in the plane also follow you through the gate and onto the terminals.
After two plus hours of boarding and flying I had to use the bathroom. Esther did too, but she said she would wait. She watched the luggage (all carry-on; we checked nothing) while I went to pee. The restroom – the last bastion for peace and quiet for a man.
Or so was the hope, until the Describer walked up to the urinal next to me.
“Urine is going through the urethra; passing the penile tip. I’m urinating now.”
I finished, washed my hands, left the restroom, told Esther it was her turn, sat by my bags and wept…”
Starting at page 105:
“Airplane travel. All those stand-up comedians are right, you know. How can I add to the litany of complaints made by guys in sport coats in smoky rooms saying, “What’s the deal with flying?”
Get in line to have your luggage irradiated and your anal cavity inspected. Get in line to get your line ticket. Get in line to get in the airplane. Wedge yourself next to a man with pointy elbows and body odor. Drink your shot glass of Coca-cola. Eat the 6 peanuts from the sealed snack bag. Try not to sneeze on the bald head of the guy in front of you whose seat is pushed back to your chest. Wish the guy in back of you who has been talking since he sat down would have a stroke. All while hoping you don’t die ablaze in a corn field.
…
(Seated in front of us) …were two men in their twenties roaring drunk and talking as if they were sitting in a bowling alley next to the ball return. They discussed baseball, football, hockey, then back to baseball. They asked the stewardess for drink after drink.
By the end of the two-hour flight they sucked the plane’s stock dry. Imagine if this were a movie - each would be played by an obnoxious Vince Vaughn in a split-screen. That comes close. One guy had a voice very much like Vaughn’s from “Wedding
Crashers”.
They had a three-seat row to themselves – no one sat between them. Good lord, who would want to? Maybe they did that on purpose: act as loud and obnoxious as possible and you get a row to yourself.
After an hour they eventually turned into Charlie Brown adults. “Wah-wah, wah wah-wah-wah.” I leaned my head against the window to watch the world pass underneath hoping to drown them out.
It worked somewhat – the trouble was now I could hear the old man behind me.
The Describer.
For the next hour the gentleman behind me described the landscape to (presumably) his wife sitting next to him. Every few seconds a low raspy voice would sound out…
“There’s a bean field.”
“There’s a baseball field.”
“That house has a swimming pool.”
“There’s the Atlantic Ocean.” Ah, that’s what that big blue wobbly thing going to the horizon was …
We both brought paperback books to read for the trip, and Esther managed to read peacefully. I barely managed two pages.
<read read> “wah-wah-wah, wah-wah”
<read read> “that must be the Potomac”
Hell. Hell, I tell you! I was never more eager to get out of a plane. But de-boarding provided no solace. As with any airline trip, the same yahoos sitting around you in the plane also follow you through the gate and onto the terminals.
After two plus hours of boarding and flying I had to use the bathroom. Esther did too, but she said she would wait. She watched the luggage (all carry-on; we checked nothing) while I went to pee. The restroom – the last bastion for peace and quiet for a man.
Or so was the hope, until the Describer walked up to the urinal next to me.
“Urine is going through the urethra; passing the penile tip. I’m urinating now.”
I finished, washed my hands, left the restroom, told Esther it was her turn, sat by my bags and wept…”
***
"Abby's Road, the Long and Winding Road to Adoption and how Facebook, Aquaman and Theodore Roosevelt Helped" leads a couple through their days of infertility treatments and adoption. It is told with gentle (and sometimes not-so-gentle) humor from the perspective of a nerdy father and his loving and understanding wife.
Join Mike and Esther as they go through IUIs and IFVs, as they search for an adoption agency, are selected by a birth mother, prepare their house, prepare their family, prepare themselves and wait for their daughter to be born a thousand miles from home.
Abby's Road is available at Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/Abbys-Road-Long-Winding-Adoption/product-reviews/0692221530/ref=cm_cr_pr_top_recent?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=0&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending
at Barnes and Noble here: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abbys-road-the-long-and-winding-road-to-adoption-and-how-facebook-aquaman-and-theodore-roosevelt-helped-michael-curry/1119971924?ean=9780692221532
and at Smashwords here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/457270
Copyright 2014 Michael Curry
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