De Plane! De Plane! (and other nonsense on the runways of a miserable southern city)
My apologies for my extended absence, but it took several days upon my Caymanian return to right my wings, so to speak.
Our last day on the island was like any other: fantastic endless blue skies, the twinkling Caribbean waters, and the promise of better things. I took one last dip in the pool to massage my sun-damaged skin. It felt good, much like eating a stick of butter, and in my own little way, it was a rather intimate “goodbye” to the island life. I would miss it, dammit.
We had shared something for the week, the island and me. And if all went well in the world — if this spinning orb didn’t drift out into space — I’d be back to leap in its sands, to feel the gentle caress of its peaceful waters. Hoo-ah.
And as with all other vacations, this one ended with an airplane ride, a hellacious testing of physics and humanity. The untimeliness of the airline industry would be a day’s disaster, without a doubt. But we were prepared with an arsenal of jokes, good spirits, and general conviviality.
Upon boarding the steel bird, we noticed an unidentifiable smidgen of goo on the seat next to Kathryn. “Ho-hum” my companions moaned together. After all, it was just one of those days.
The goo screamed at us, a wild banshee in a haunted barn. Hairy and wild, it made itself noticed — it made a spectacle. I deftly zoomed in, making sure to keep my outstretched arms at a safe distance from the unknown. Hummina, hummina, hummina. It was goo, that was for sure.
After conducting a short battery of tests, the substance appeared to be some sort of hair-booger-hydrated silicate-monkey spit composite. It had the odor of 1,000 dying elephants, and it was malleable like warm play-doh.
But the goo was but a minor distraction, it seemed. The plane without warning jerked to a sudden stop on the tarmac, a loud thud vibrating up from the plane’s aft. Amidst the short-lived commotion, I thought I had heard the cacophonous sound of scraping metal. But no time for details: we were still, silent, and soon to be miserable.
Judging by the caliber of ground’s crew at the Charlotte airport (essentially scoliosis-shaped hyenas in coveralls), they had just made a serious fucking boo-boo. The leader-hyena — marked by his authoritative glow-sticks and frantic motioning to the other animals — had just directed one of his packies to push the plane into another plane sitting on the runway. It was, in terms of biblical history, totally unbelievable.
The pilot’s voice crackled on the intercom: “Good afternoon, folks. This plane, it appears, is in need of a little maintenance. We’ll have to deboard and get ya’ll another plane.”
Joy among joys. Stepping into the evening sun, I turned back, camera in hand, and started pulling the Sony’s trigger. Among the commotion, I had no time to soak up the hilarity, but I’m enjoying it now.
It was a rather large “oops,” one that I was determined to photographically capture. But more important was my health, and upon seeing such absurdity, I was happy to have the collision occur on the ground rather the air. And I felt the good fortune of timing. And pondering the nature of things, I touched my arm, then my leg, glad to have them both still attached to my body. A quien Dios ama, le llama.
3 years ago