They say the president is on the runway or about to land. There is no movement, no planes taking off. None seem to be coming in. We are all packed in, all seats taken, but not nearly as squished as the first flight, which was all but miserable. I squirmed, stamped my feet, did the exercises, slept, woke up, slept more and we still had hours to go. My legs are killing me up to my thighs and that heart pain is back but I already took the pill in Nice before the first flight. I should try to find some aspirin, just asked the steward and he's gonna deliver... Amen. Wow, these airports can, without much effort, just wipe the dreamy cheesy holiday grin off your face and turn it into mafioso grim.
By the time you've been cattled into one line after another, made to take off most of the clothes you put on for the occasion, patted down, x-rayed, hustled to your gate and queued up again for your boarding, you're still expected to squish, shove and push your hand luggage, and prepare for the extra suck in to make yourself smaller than the seat provided. The knees of the poor six-footer behind you pressing into your back, nobody is smiling. this second flight has a big guy, yes a big guy pork-sausaged into the middle seat, he's sitting like a bridesmaid in a 3-sizes too small dress, his shoulders hunched up to his ears, his hand extended to the seat in front of him with the expression... "I fit, yep I fit..." on his non-complaining face. His language is Italian, his friend sits next to me and I think to offer him my aisle seat. It looks like he's suffering, but the pad in my legs, which are burning, hurting behind my knees makes this decision easy for me and I think poor sucker he's not getting my seat no way.
I think of Angela and wish I could call her and let her know to get to the airport early so there is no rush and no hustle with her bad ankle, cane and heavy suitcases. By herself this could be a drag. Then I wonder about Betye, thank god she made that flight! Ooh that was so tight, she didn't have time to go to duty free, although maybe that was a blessing, too many things in her hand, we all have to rethink what we are going to bring with us and how to travel. Lugging stuff just doesn't make sense. Now, that's got me to thinking that we all need to save a little extra money for a man Friday, that's who we should be traveling with. Big muscular fellow who delivers us to the airport, drives us in the foreign land, does foot massages after one too many a museum or ruin and gets us back safely to our homes and removes all airport hassles! Yeah!
I forgot to mention Martha Stuart was in first class... did she just look at me? Our eyes seem to be meeting... Okay. Moving on. My stay over in New York (2 hours) I called BOUBACAR and said hello sweetheart and he replied... the whole of Senegal is burning" I gathered there was news he wanted to tell me. "Oh, what's happening? How are you?" the government and the youths are clashing in the streets... I didn't hear much more." "Honey I'm at the airport, it's noisy"... but my news hound insists that this is an historic moment for Senegal and he's proud of those protesting, looting, burning, young folk... ooh CC seems kinda jaded! He has gone to his little island after locking the car in the garage and battened down the hatches at the museum, I'm listening to the radio, "he says I'd go but my leg hurts."
A bath, a massage and lots of water that's what I need...
CCH Pounder currently stars on Syfy's Warehouse 13