Many alarms were set to ensure we’d make it to our flight on time. Fortunately, the inevitable cacophony never occurred. Instead we awoke… to cackling. Mother Jones had already awoken of her own accord and found herself laughing in the dark room full of sleeping people. She proceeded to tell a story.
She was tasked with dog sitting and faithfully fulling her duties. She was greeted by MANY dogs upon her arrival. Her instructions were specific – she was to retrieve a particular dog and walk it. However, she did not have a leash. Conveniently, her fully grown, adult brother happened to be there. Wearing a collar and leash. He kindly loaned it to Cheri when she asked for it, though she wouldn’t take it until he agreed to “stay“.
That’s when I learned it was a dream.
Did I mention Walter Jones doesn’t like mornings?
Assured of the sanity of the group that I was about to leave the country with, the next few hours passed uneventfully. We boarded the plane and found our seats towards the back of the plane. As soon as we sat down, Walter explained his selection of seats. Convenient access to the bathroom was paramount. Shortly thereafter, the snap of the lavatory door announced the arrival of the smell of poop, poorly masked by fragrant spray.
“Turn the air up.” -Cheri
Once we were in the air, there was no doubt in my mind that Laurel was in complete denial about her fear of flying. After I regained feeling in my hand, she admitted that there were parts that she wasn’t fond of. In particular, all of the parts that involved taking off and landing. And going through clouds.
“Hate. Clouds.” -Laurel
We learned of a new rule for international flights. Passengers are not allowed to line up to use the lavatory. This constitutes “congregation,” which is expressly forbidden and punishable by air marshal.
After this rule was announced, Laurel turned to me and said, “Isn’t it interesting that they don’t want you talking to each other about going to the bathroom?” Confused, I ask her to clarify. She responds, “You know. No…” she squints her eyes and rubs her hands together, “…congregating.”
“You mean conspiring?”
We land, get a ride to the hotel, and get in line to check in. It seemed like most of the people on our flight were heading for the same hotel we were. To ease the wait, the hotel had provided complimentary drinks to those standing in line. The drinks were all Bahama Mamas, and they were distributed by a guy who seemed incapable of saying anything but “Bahama Mama.”
“Can I have one?” “Bahama Mama.”
“Thank you.” “Bahama Mama.”
When nobody was standing near him, he would raise his voice and announce the wisdom of his choice beverage to the entire lobby.
We eventually learned that he does, in fact, speak fluent English.