Things have been bad enough for you for the past few days and I am only 1000 miles away. Think about how you would cope in Indonesia. And there is no way I am going (though Dwi already asked).
Now. On to my post.
The holidays are supposed to be a time of cheer. A time of happiness and eggnog. A time of gatherings and fires (in fireplaces, though sometimes not when living with Schwayman). A time when family is there. A time when family cares. A time when family acts like a family.
My family failed me this pre-Christmas.
After being delayed in New York for three hours on my way home for the holidays, I decided to call my dear friend Marbs and tell her not to worry about picking me up (my family is so lazy they bribe marbs every time I come home to pick me up in Atlanta and drive me the--wait for it!!!!--the whole HOUR to Athens. It's just too loooooooooong a way to driiiiive, Hadley). Since I knew my arrival time was in flux, I felt bad, guilty even, asking Marbs, a true and humble servant, to wait around for me all day and possibly get stuck in Atlanta rush hour. I then telephoned my family. Because in a pinch, that's who you should call. I figured they would admire my selflessness--my generous spirit in releasing my awesome friend from driving duty. I thought they would, if not out of joy, drive the treacherous hour south and pick me up solely out of pity. I was wrong.
After seven long hours of airports and exit rows and fat Tahitian men named Maury, I found myself alone in the back of a white van with three "A's" painted on the outside and a balding, middle-aged red-neck man-woman named Maggie behind the wheel. I was headed home.
Now, don't get me wrong. Maggie was perfectly nice--perhaps more than was necessary (impressive for a professional airport shuttle driver). But as we pulled out of the pink parking space marked with the number 10, I knew I was in trouble. Maggie was talking about how just three weeks ago a shuttle ran over a 13 year old girl and killed her. Then, as we passed a mysteriously placed tree on the way out of the parking lot, she told me how and why that tree was placed there. Then, as we passed a boy on the side of the road, she told me a story about the boy she had just made up on the spot (Maggie did not know this boy but she knew one kind of like him). Then, as we passed a mexican restaurant on the exit ramp, she told me what we might eat there. Burritos, margaritas. Then, as we passed a chinese restaurant on the same exit ramp, she told me what we might eat there. Peking duck, happy family. And this was all within the first five minutes of our hour-long venture.
Maggie wanted to tell me about everything we saw on the way from Atlanta to Athens. A normal person would guess there isn't much to talk about in way of surroundings on a drive through rural Georgia (Maggie only took the backroads--no highways for her). But not Maggie. Maggie found a way to talk about every non-notable object we passed and still managed to ruminate about the weather, George Bush's shoe incident in Afghanistan (yes, i know it was in Iraq, but Maggie didn't), her favorite instrumental rendition of "Silent Night" which we heard four times on our journey, and the constantly adjusted temperature inside the moving white penitentiary.
Halfway through the journey I decided I must take matters into my own passive-aggressive hands. I very loudly pulled out my neck-hugging travel pillow, yawned, stretched, and pretended to fall asleep. It was working!! Maggie was humming quietly, as if to help lull me to sleep!!
45 seconds later, she was commenting on the paint job of a honda driving alongside us.
My family failed me this Christmas. But I guess it could be worse. I could have to spend the holidays with Maggie.
Yours,
a jetlagged yeldah (there was no time change but I couldn't think of another negative word related specifically to traveling)
