Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Seven.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing Tonight but Uncle Bob's trying to hang a squirrel.

Arv was one of the many fun people we met during our travels. We met in Cleveland trying to get to Detroit.

Arv is from India but lives in Detroit. He has long, black hair tied back in a messy pony tail. Strands of hair frame his bearded face and fall in front of his thick, black glasses. His bright eyes pop out of his head. He is easily excited.

Arv is quiet for the most part. He's a better listener than speaker. A camouflage coat hangs from his over-the-shoulder messenger bag. He is wearing black, low-top Converse and looks like a musician or film student.

We talk a lot about Boston. He used to live there and is familiar with Commonwealth Ave. His friend teaches Musicology at BU. Arv tells me to check out the class and asks if I've ever been to Super 88. Pssh. Duh.

His laugh is contagious. He chuckles at every joke Steve and I make. He enjoys our banter as we make fun of people walking by us.

In the van to Detroit, he offers to give us a ride home. He's making his mom pick him up, he says. Dad calls to ask me yes-or-no questions to determine if Arv is a serial killer trying to lure us into his basement. We determine it's okay to take the ride.

Detroit airport is chaotic. Arv's mom is held up so I go to the bathroom and to the bagel place. I haven't eaten all day. While standing in line, I get a text from Steve prompting me to guess Arv's age. Late twenties, I reply.

Try ten years more, he answers. Arv is nearing 40. We are perplexed.

Arv's mom arrives 45 minutes later. She is a small Indian woman who has an equally contagious laugh. On the car ride home, Arv offers information about the Schwayze concert tonight. He might check it out. We should look into it, he says.

My phone vibrates. It's a text from my dad.

"I'll be waiting. Uncle Bob is at the hardware store buying wire to hang a squirrel in our back yard. See you soon."

Here we go.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Six.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.

"Do you think I can pee in this bottle?" Steve whispers, lifting a Poland Springs water bottle out of the cup holder.

"What? Absolutely not. We're almost there," I tell him.

Who even knows where we are. I've been sitting bitch in the back of a big van with eight strangers for over two hours. I just want to get home.

"Seriously. I have to go bad," Steve informs me, eyes wide and leg twitching. "Ask him how close we are."

"No. You ask him. You're the one who has to pee."

"Seriously, Maria it's not funny. Ask him. I can't. COME ON!"

Steve starts loosening the bottle cap when he realizes I won't ask.

"STEVE! You can't pee in that bottle. We are in a van full of strangers! There's a girl sitting right next to me! Relax!"

I'm on the verge of tears laughing so hard. Steve is angry because I'm laughing instead of solving his problem. He loosens his seat belt and looks out all windows for a sign or a suitable tree.

"MARIA!"

"... Sir!" I say in a shaky voice laughing hysterically. "Do you know about how far we are?" I am trying to contain my laughter. The driver doesn't hear me.

Arv is sitting in the row in front of us just behind the driver. He leans over and repeats my question.

"Oh! We're about two hours out!" the driver chuckles.

"Make him fucking pull over," Steve screams in my ear. "I can't wait."

The tears are flowing. The driver says he's joking and we'll be at Detroit Metro Airport in about fifteen minutes. It's the next exit. I tell Steve to relax, but he can't. He is sitting on the edge of his seat, one hand on the water bottle, eyes beckoning the exit. Five minutes go by. Ten minutes go by.

"Maria, ask him to pull over or I will piss in this bottle," he says testing his belt buckle and trying to work out the logistics of subtly pissing in a bottle in the back of a crowded van.

"Steve calm down now. There's nothing I can do. We're almost there."

Arv turns around and asks if he's going to be okay. I tell him no.

"I'M GOING TO PISS MYSELF," Steve announces to the van. "I have to go bad!"

I am crying hysterically. Arv is staring concernedly. Everyone else ignores him, not sure what to do.

We drive off the exit and approach the airport. There's a lot of traffic and we're not moving very fast.

Steve stares at me. He stares at the traffic. His shaking leg is moving the van. The driver has no idea. Arv keeps looking back to see if Steve has pissed himself yet.

We finally reach the building but the driver can't find the Delta gate. Steve is grunting. His eyes are watering. The driver goes on and on about holiday travel and the awful traffic jams. Arv notices that Steve is about to give up.

"Can we just let him out here?" he asks the van. "Can you stop quick so he can go?"

"He's going to have an emergency," I add.

The driver pulls over and Steve runs out of the van sprinting toward the door without a word. We can see him hustling through the glass windows. I am laughing hysterically in the silent van.

Crisis averted.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Five.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out

We hear the clicking of her high heels as she makes her way from Belt 6 to Belt 4.

Steve and I are approaching one hour on the floor of Cleveland International.

The clicking grows louder and eventually stops four feet in front of Steve, Arv and I. The three of us look up to find a woman with big, blown out hair latch on to a scrawny soldier, who, like dozens more, is just returning from deployment.

The two start making out. Hardcore. Their two daughters videotape the whole thing saying, "Yea! Keep her there! Yea!"

This would have been a lot more disturbing without the visual.

An older gentleman approaches the couple and taps the soldier on the shoulder. The soldier removes his tongue from the woman's throat saying, "Yea?"

"Did you just come back sir?"

The soldier, without answering, continues to attack the woman's face with his mouth. The older man meekly says, "...oh... just wanted.. to thank you for everything... and... yea..."

The soldier acknowledges this, shakes the man's hand, apologizes for his short attention span and continues to make out with the woman as the older man walks away.

Later we see an older soldier greet his wife, grandchild and daughter. He hugs his wife for three second, hugs his daughter for two and pats his grandchild on the head.

"That's what happens," Steve observes. "When you get older, passion goes away. This guy's just like, 'Oh hey! What's up? Good to see you!'"

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Four.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot

Steve and I are sitting on the floor in Cleveland-Hopkins International, waiting for a van to bring us to Detroit. I've never been here. It looks like every other airport baggage claim in the world.

We meet Arv. We saw him last night in Cincinnati. He is also trying to get to Detroit. The three of us have been sitting on the floor for some time now talking about Boston and people walking by. An older man approaches us.

"Can I get an M from the choir?" he inquires, trying to inspire a Christmas sing-a-long.

No one budges.

"Hey, who wants to learn how to fly?" he asks.

The three of us look at each other. Does he mean right now? Have they run out of pilots to transport people this holiday season? Is he senile? Does he want to kidnap us and hide us in some secret sector deep in the center of the airport?

"I do! I want to learn to fly," Arv announces, taking the bait.

The old man pulls his fist out of his pocket and reveals three pins. He passes one to each of us. The pins read, "Future Pilot." Sweet. He tells us that if we bring it to an AOPA flight school, we will be taken up in a plane that same day and the pilot will let us take control of the aircraft for a few minutes. No. Freakin. Way.

The old man seduces us with stories from flights he'd taken in previous years. He told us of the time he took his wife up in a plane and did a barrel roll and scared her to death.

As he told us about the time he almost flew into a sign, I noticed a pin on his bright yellow blazer that read, "volunteer." I was happy for the distraction.

Arv wore his pin home. Steve gave me his.

I need to find an airport and get some lessons so I can start announcing with authority, "This is your captain, Maria, speaking. Buckle up. We're in for a bumpy ride."

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Three.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death


"That guy's trying hard to get some ass," Steve observes as we sit in a crowded Cincinnati airport.

We are eating a late dinner while staring at a man in his mid-twenties chatting up the three girls surrounding him, one on either side and one in front of him. Their grimaces prove the girls aren't buying it.

"He's just one of those guys who's always talking. It's like a lasso of death," Steve told me as we watched the kid start talking to a young soldier after being shunned by the girls. "I would kill myself over there."

The kid moves from person to person eager for any audience, though he prefers a female one. He is over confident in his mediocre muscles. His skin tight shirt gives him the extra boost of confidence he needs to approach men and women alike.

Aaah. Little Man Syndrome.

No one wants to hear it. The first girl opens her phone, pretending to answer an important text. Any excuse to ignore the pointless but persistent chatter. The other girls stand up and leave.

It's been a long day. It's too difficult to pretend to be nice. Anything would be better than the lasso of death.

Someone get this kid a bigger shirt.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Two.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes

I look up from a brief staring match with my iPod to see a deranged woman standing two feet in front of Steve and I, peering intently out the window. The woman's eyes were bulging out of her head as she tried to will her plane to arrive.

Does she know Logan International has been temporarily shut down?

Her hair has not been tended to in days. She looks like she's been waiting for a week.

A group of pilots stand huddled by the check-in desk. The woman presses herself against the window in an attempt to hear their conversation. She's a stealth master. Double agent.

I turn to Steve and inform him that if we are stuck in Logan much longer, I will go crazy.

The woman snaps her head around, eyes red and popping out of her forehead, and shrieks, "Go where?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Where's that plane going?"

"Oh. I don't know. Nowhere apparently."

Now I see, it is too late for some travelers. Insanity sets in after about four hours of uninformed confinement.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter One.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician

A young guy stands just over six feet tall with hair that's a little too long and bushy for his narrow face. The sleeves of his black ski jacket are a little too short for his arms.

We have been sitting here for hours.

He stands to stretch and his sleeves fall revealing hands and wrists bound in black Everlast boxing wraps. He clutches his fists while standing idly. His piercing eyes survey the airport searching for possible opponents. He can take them. Eyebrow raised and jaw protruding, he throws a few punches into the air as subtly but convincingly as he can.

He must not waste a second of time. A true fighter never rests. They train when and where they can. He wouldn't be caught dead without his wraps securely fastened, prepared for battle.

But that's not all he's traveling with.

He stealthily slides a stack of cards out of his inside coat sleeve and practices shuffling and card tricks. Jack of all trades. He's always training for something. Always prepared.

"Tool," Steve observes.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road

(Pic)

What you are about to read is the tale of two innocent travelers unwillingly sucked into holiday travel mayhem. They kicked. They screamed. They cursed Delta and every person inside the four airports they saw in two days.

Saturday, December 20th, Maria and Steve left to Logan Airport and experienced six and a half hours of torture awaiting a plane to Cincinnati. After defrosting on the tar mac for one hour, they were flown to Cincinnati where they sat in the airport, two of twenty other stand-by-to-Detroit passengers, only to discover they would be spending the night in Cincinnati.

Shuttled to a Marriott in Kentucky, the two were happy they had free wireless even though there was not enough hotel shampoo to cover both their heads. At six in the morning, they were shuttled back to the Cincinnati airport where they found passengers asleep under benches and familiar yet unshowered travelers they had encountered the night before.

Maria and Steve were flown to Cleveland in a puddle jumper. They were then driven three hours to Detroit with five other strangers. When they arrived, they determined their luggage was somewhere else in the country. A stranger drove them home, where they were greeted by their family, who almost forgot they were even coming because they were trying to kill squirrels in the back yard.

The following stories are true.

Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: I'm a Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers making out.
Chapter Six: Steve almost pees himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing tonight but Uncle Bob's trying to hang a squirrel.
Chapter Eight: On the ice. Big Mike Scores Big and Anna Speeds Around
Chapter Nine: Bucca de Beppo: Crop Dusting and Gorging
Chapter Ten: Peppermint Bark.

How to avoid a mental breakdown during stressful holiday travel:

1. BE EARLY. Pack the night before so you have one less thing to worry about the day of travel. Get to the gate earlier than usual.
   
2. BE PREPARED. Pack light. Don't break the weight limit. Assemble a small emergency kit in case you get stuck in Cincinnati overnight with no contact solution, brush or change of clothes.
3. PACK RELAXING. Don't forget that little something that reminds you that it's not the end of the world. For me, that's my iPod. For Steve, that's a book about Wireless Security.
   
4. BRING A BUDDY. If possible, this will save your sanity and make the trip enjoyable. Steve and I have thoroughly enjoyed people watching and making fun of the weirdos we've been trapped with. You really learn a lot about strangers when you're with them in a small space for 6.5 hours.
   
5. MAKE FRIENDS. Everyone is trapped and cranky, just like you. Be friendly. Meet some new people. Commiserate. It will help pass time and you may realize that the complete stranger sitting next to you in the airport is not only cute and on the crew team at his college but also good friends with one of the 50 kids you went to high school with.
6. DON'T PANIC. You're going to hit some speed bumps in your holiday travels. Some may resemble a small but annoying tree branch like when the entire handle of Steve's suitcase ripped out while he was dragging it through 6 inches of snow and a blizzard. Other obstacles may resemble a deer speeding toward your windshield, like when all flights to Logan were being diverted to Providence or when we discovered we were two of over ten people trying to fly standby to Detroit and ended up stuck here in Cincinnati overnight instead. Panicking will not solve anything. Shrug it off. You will get home eventually.
   
7. BE PATIENT. Understand that everyone is extremely stressed out. Everyone hates the situation. Are screaming babies bringing out those voices inside your head tempting you to punt the baby down the aisle? Ignore them! Turn up your iPod, keep your feet on the ground and wait for the parents to control that demon child.
   
8. BE NICE. The airport attendants are dealing with hundreds of people just as upset and frustrated as you are. Smile and be polite when asking them why the hell you're still sitting in Logan Airport when you should have already made your connection, driven home and cracked a beer by now.
   
9. ASSESS YOUR OPTIONS. They're out there. Usually the airline will do what they can to help you. Delta has been great despite the situation. There's always another way to achieve your goal. Just take a deep breath and find it.
   
10. TAKE ADVANTAGE. I am in a comfy hotel with a confirmed flight (albeit not to my desired destination... there will be ground transportation bringing us the remaining three hours) and a food voucher for breakfast. Thank you, Delta.

Good luck out there, people. It's a rough one this year.

Logan to Dulles.

My thoughts on airports are polarized. I passionately hate them because they're full of slow lines, overpriced food and people who talk loudly on their mobile phones as if everyone cared about the guy who is planning a wedding but not inviting his mother because she disowned him for being gay. That said, I love airports because being in one means I'm going somewhere fun or picking up someone I haven't seen in a while. Most importantly, being in an airport means I get to people-watch. My all time favorite hobby.

I traveled through three different airports to get home: Logan, Dulles and Detroit Metro. WOW!!! Let's skip right to my first plane ride from Boston to D.C.

The captain of the plane announced himself as Captain Morgan. I knew it was going to be a great trip. I was lucky enough to have a window seat. To my left was a little girl, maybe 8. Next to her was her dad (although I was convinced he could have also been her kidnapper). Sitting next to these two gave me a minor ulcer. The second they buckled their seat-belts, the dad (let's call him Richard) pulled out a bottle of liquid hand sanitizer from his little blue backpack. On demand, his daughter (let's call her Jill) opened her hands as if receiving the Holy Communion. He squirted a good portion into her hands and his and stashed his little backpack under the seat in front of him. They cleansed themselves in unison. Normal enough.

Still on the tar-mack, Richard retrieved his little backpack from under the seat in front of him and pulled out a pack of gum. Jill reached for a silver-wrapped piece of gum.

"Don't touch the gum with your hands!" shrieked a balding Richard.

I became a little nervous watching the girl struggle to open and insert the piece of gum without making contact. Her father looked away and she grabbed the gum and shoved it in her mouth. Richard pulled out the sanitizer again and squirted some into Jill's hand. He dug a black pen out of his backpack and gave it to her. She took off the cap and wrote "Hi!" on the back of her hand.

"Don't do that!" shrieked a bespectacled Richard.

He retrieved his sanitizer and poured it on her hand until it was dripping off the sides. He took out a napkin and handed it her. She started to rub but was not rubbing to Richard's liking so he pressed his hand over her hand over the napkin and scrubbed her skin.

The distribution of hand sanitizer didn't end here, but you get the point so this is where I'll stop. Seriously this poor little girl is going to be neurotic in a few years, if she isn't already. He should let her get a little dirty and build some immunity instead of breeding paranoia. Soon she'll be wearing masks over her mouth and gloves on her hands like Asians in fear of Sars and germs.

I, on the other hand, will never contract another disease after surviving the 426 bathroom. Neither will Andrea, Christina, Jess, Noelle or Tara. Hooray!!!

Anyways... I spent the rest of the plane ride to D.C. listening to Head Automatica and coughing without covering my mouth in an attempt to induce a stress-related seizure in Richard.

I hope he's having a nightmare about my germs flying into his eyeballs somewhere right now.