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| My quickie sketch of the view |
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| The actual view |
So I asked my rheumatologist for some pain pills to get me through the three-day marathon of a trip. He obliged -- he gave me Dilaudid (Oxymorphone) which is a very powerful painkiller/narcotic.
Anyway, Tai-chan and I were on the Seattle-Minneapolis leg (I go to Minneapolis on the way back -- don't know why) when i decided to take a pain pill, anticipating the nearly one-mile distance between transfer gates.
Unfortunately fate, as it so often does, conspired to lead me down the garden path in an unfortunate series of events. I, surprise surprise, discovered two coupons for free drinks in my travel wallet (I'm a Gold Medallion member!!!) so I ordered two white wines, to preclude the stewardess from coming back.
Usually this would give me a mild buzz. But combined with fatigue, very little food and low resistance, the Dilaudid saw its opportunity and sprang into action.
By the time we arrived at Minneapolis I was a dizzy, stumbling wreck. Still, my wits were about me, and we made the rush for the plane to Montreal -- we were a few minutes late in and it left in less than an hour, which meant that while we were on our way there, they were already boarding. We eventually had to hop one of those little cars that buzz around airports, but when we arrived at the gate, alas, I couldn't find our passports. In my befuddled state I searched through all our carryons, my jacket, at least ten times until it was discovered that I'd left them on the cart. But the time we retrieved them, the flight was closed.
No matter, said I, we'd check into a hotel. So we made our way down to the shuttle bus for the Ramada Inn. I must have been in a worse state than I recall, because someone pointed me out to the airport police, who helpfully showed up and announced that I had to be taken to a hospital. I objected, asking them to just let us get on the shuttle, check in to the hotel and I could sleep it off. They were having none of that, so they separated us, driving me to the hospital and Tai-chan to some children's home (I learned later.)
What a fucking disaster! They just put me into some recovery area, where I slept a bit (I could do nothing else) and by 6 a.m. I was chipper as a sparrow and desperate to get Tai-chan and get the hell out of there. But nooooo. Now I learned that "child services" wanted to know if I really had custody of Tai-chan or was kidnapping him. Notwithstanding his mother's stamped permission letter, they demanded to speak to his mother -- in Japan.
Well, it was fourteen hours ahead, and she had to work in the morning, and didn't have long distance, so the only chance was to get her to her mother's house at exactly 7 a.m. her time (5 p.m. Minneapolis time) and receive the phone call from child services.
Well, I had to take a taxi clear across town on a 110-degree day (around 37 C) and, using the social services' telephone, leave a message in Japanese on my ex-wife's mother's answering machine begging her to be there at 7 a.m. to get the call. Then I taxied the whole way across town again to where Tai-chan was to wait for the call from Social Services that they'd made contact with his mother and he was free to go. There was the last flight to Montreal at 7 p.m., so once we got confirmation (IF we got confirmation) we'd have to rush to the airport, check in and board the plane.
Well, I won't bother teasing you -- the call went through, we rushed to the airport, made the flight and here we are.
But I sure never want to set foot in Minneapolis ever again.
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| Home again, eating chocolate chip cookies and watching SpongeBob five minutes after waking up |
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