Bye-bye Zhorgia
I was flying to New York from Atlanta and rather than, “Would you like something to drink,” the flight attendant asked, “Are you okay?”
“No, but I will be.”
At the time she asked, I had already started crying, but as the words, “will be,” tried to come out of my mouth, full-fledged sobbing set in and the phrase caught in my throat. As I struggled to find exact change for the wine I was requesting, she said, “Oh, you’ve got it,” took the insufficient amount of cash I had managed to extract from my wallet, and handed me extra napkins.
I turned my face toward the window and did my best to keep the sound at a minimum. Luckily the guy next to me with the NY Jets lanyard bearing a plastic sleeve of boarding passes was already asleep underneath his Panama Jack hat. The French lady in front of me, however, was not, and I could feel her peering empathetically at me through the crack between the seats.
Actually, it was all her fault.
Moments before as we made liftoff, she looked out the airplane window and waved: “Bye-bye, Aht-lahnta; bye-bye Zhorgia; bye-bye Zhon, bye-bye Zhesicca” and I caught her wiping a tear from her eye; and, that’s all it took.
As we all know, I’m emotionally unstable to begin with. On top of that, my mom died less than four months ago and I just spent a week in Zhorgia with my sister and niece, which culminated in the family dog’s euthanization in a veterinary’s office laden with anti-Obama propaganda, and a dramatic exit from my sister’s house because I had my feelings hurt. A lot.
Seeing this sweet Frenchie bid adieu to her Georgia vacation, sent me directly over the edge into a public breakdown.
Suffice it to say that, emotionally, I was a little raw.
[Here is when I close my computer for landing and make my way home. Fun fact! As I waited for my luggage in LaGuardia, I sat on the arm of a row of three chairs because the seat parts were occupied by - in order from my ass-to-the-right: a suitcase, a suitcase, and a sleeping homeless man.
When he woke up and realized I was there, he told me I needed to move because of his stuff.
I said, "No, you need to move your bag.
“My bag was there first,” he says to me.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to share it.”
He called me disrespectful. I replied with a threatening, “Not today, buddy. Not to-fucking-day,” And that was that.]
Fast forward to now. I’m sitting here at home, a little drunk and a lot stoned, eating my pain in the form of Erica’s barbecue chicken. I also have my eye on the Oreos in the kitchen.
I’ve decided to put work off for a little while and watch some Glee right after I post this blog. It’s been a long week and frankly, I’m quite drained. A lot went down while I was there and I promise to tell you all about it very soon.
May 3rd, 2011 at 5:20 pm
I hope you enjoyed and Oreo or two!