Wildebeest with Glasses visits Mexico with mabel & Mortimer
“… unimpressed, Dan. Newark? Newark? Who voluntarily goes to Newark?”
I was embarking on the beginning skirmish of a potential consulting gig. However, regular readers know that ‘getting there’ (or ‘getting home&rsquo
is always a challenge for me. Amazingly, my outbound flights (Santa Barbara to Denver to Newark) were smooth and on-time. There were no weather problems and the window view of the Rockies and the NYC skyline were spectacular. Unfortunately, I had to share the aircraft with a woman who had a surplus of wildebeest genes.New York - January 5 2015
“Wildebeest genes?” Nazy asks.
“Think about millions of wildebeest thundering across the Serengetti plain in Tanzania. Then focus on a a particularly large and ugly one. Now picture a lion in hot pursuit of this being.”
“Do you have a point, Dan?”
“I was politely following crew directions. I remained in my seat while passengers with close connections deplaned. When the aircraft was mostly clear, I leaned into the aisle. A wildebeest in the back…”
“Wildebeest?”
“Now that I think about it, I believe she had more in common with a panicked rhinoceros. The sight of me in the aisle activated her ‘charge’ genes. She thundered into action and smashed her head into my glasses. My spectacle’s temple bent and cracked. I could barely hear her mumble ‘sorry’ as she roared past.”
In spite of this unpleasant arrival, my onward flight was (exit-row) comfortable and smooth. My real problems began on the flight home. The unexpectedly short line at the TSA checkpoint camouflaged the real situation: a stready stream of wheel chair-bound parties bypassed the normal line.
“In fact, Nazy,” I explained. “I counted 35 wheelchair groups that bypassed the queue. And, when I entered the checkpoint line, I only counted 42 people in front of me.”
“It is fair for invalids to get priority ..”
“That’s right. If they are invalid. I saw an entire family - six people - bypass the queue. They pushed a teenager in a wheel chair to the checkpoint. But, when they left the checkpoint, an elderly aunt was sitting in the chair.”
“How do you know it was an elderly aunt?”
“I saw an empty wheelchair and seriously thought about a commandeering operation. When I finally reached the front, I complained about the lack of a TSA Pre-check lane. The agent was not helpful:”
“The pre-check lane is in Terminal A.” She said. “You could have gone there.”
“Since my flight is departing from Terminal C, you solution is less than attractive,” I replied. “Your solution is also moronic.” I thought.
When I finally got through security, United kept changing the departure gate. I got very familiar with the path between gates C-92, C-70 and C-102. However, I couldn't complain.
“You couldn't complain, Dan?” Nazy interrupts. “You’ve just spent most of this letter complaining.”
“And I’m just starting,” I thought.
In spite of United’s attempt to throw me off the scent with a game of musical gates, I found the (sold-out) airplane and boarded on-time. They were just about to close the door when a lady behind me began throwing up (barf-baglessly). United brought a physician onto the plane; he recommended that this lady not be allowed to fly. The recommendation was not well-received by her husband.
“They’re throwing us off of the plane, Mabel.”
“Why are they doing that Morty?”
“Because you threw up, Mabel. They say you’ll throw up more when we get higher.”
“No one minds what I do, Morty.”
“I mind,” the lady who shared the row with them.
There was a lot of discussion, but in the end, Mabel and Morty were ejected from the airplane. United came into the cabin with a giant (and loud) piece of cleaning equipment. They cleaned the relevant seats, then filled them with stand-by passengers. We left the gate late. And, while we were waiting, it had started to snow, so we stopped at the de-icing station. The pilot promised to ‘make up as much time as possible’.
“Luckily,” I thought, “I’m connecting in LA, not Denver. There are lots of flights from LA to Santa Barbara.”
Mitra and Stefan (I like the photo)
We were making good time across the country and were over the Texas panhandle when an announcement wafted through the cabin:
“Will any doctor on-board please come to the back of the cabin?”
Shortly thereafter, the pilot announced a medical emergency and an unscheduled landing in Phoenix. It was now clear that there was no hope of catching the last flight to Santa Barbara. Luckily, it takes the same amount of time to fly from Phoenix to Los Angeles as it takes to drive from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles. Nazy and Darius met me at LAX; I completed my journey by car.
For the last couple of weeks (and, in fact, for the next couple of weeks) Darius has been visiting California. He introduced us to..
“Silver coins! I collect Pieces of Eight: old Spanish silver that was used as legal tender all over the world. There is a store on State Street that has coins from the 1700’s. Some of them even have Chinese ‘chops’ on them - indicating that they were used in China. It was global money.”
“Sounds like the US Dollar.”
“Except the Spanish stuff was backed by silver.”
“They were silver, Dar.”
“It’s good to collect ‘hard’ assets, Dad. I’m building my stockpile.”
“I know, Dar. And when copper prices skyrocket, I’ll melt my penny collection.”
On the weekend, Darius joined Mitra and Stefan (who were performing) at the San Diego Tango Festival. He borrowed Melika’s car for the drive. San Diego is close to the border with Mexico. I knew that Darius and a nearby border was a volatile mix. Before he left, I reminded him that Tijuana, the Mexican border town, was boring: “There is nothing there, Darius!” Melika reinforced the message by saying that he was not authorized to drive her car in Mexico because: ‘It’s not insured in (boring) Mexico, Darius!’.
Darius, who can resist anything except temptation, held out until the last day. He even sent me a text saying that he was on the way to Santa Barbara (which is north of San Diego) while he was simultaneously heading south. He got to the immigration outpost, parked Melika’s car and strolled to the border.
“I can enter another country by simply walking through that turnstile,” Darius thought as he imagined a boundary drawn on the pavement. He called me from Mexico a short time later.
“.. and there is a three hour line to get back into the USA.”
“Standing in line sounds rather boring to me, Darius.” I replied.
Darius spent an 90 minutes walking around the city and then 2.5 hours standing in line to get back into the USA. He didn’t even get a passport stamp.
Meanwhile, locals are protesting at the city newspaper. They dislike the recent headline (Illegal Immigrants line up for driver’s licenses). “illegal immigrants” is deemed to be offensive. The preferred term is “undocumented aliens”. Frankly, I’m confused.
For last week’s letter click here.
Some photos from the holidays:
Melika and Tiger
Hiking at Le Cumbre Peak