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Tuesday
Aug092005

Life with George: LAX

Last night, literally ten feet (aprox 3 meters) from the Knitting Factory’s entrance, concert ticket in hand, my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Andy?”

“Dad!?”

“Where are you?”

“Where are you?

“What?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“On the curb!”

“On the… you’re at THE AIRPORT?”

“What?”

“YOU’RE AT THE AIRPORT!?”

“Where are you?”

“I’M IN HOLLYWOOD!”

“Come here now!”

“I will!”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I power-walked home, expertly dodging stumbling panhandlers, drunk em0 kidz, blind tourists and even a full jazz orchestra before getting in the car and bolted for LAX.

Airport traffic was worse than I expected for a Tuesday night, and it wasn’t until nearly thirty minutes later that I finally arrived at my father’s terminal and found him standing on the curb, just as he said he’d be. Because of the ridiculous traffic and completely nonsensical coning-off of crucial sections of the pick-up area, I had to park in the bus lane, about forty feet (aprox 12 meters) across the street from my father. I honked the horn to alert him to my presence. He looked up and immediately assumed his trademarked scowl before reaching his arm as high into the air as he possibly could and swinging it around and around like he was preparing to rope a wild stallion. From this, I inferred that he wished me to drive all the way around the airport and return in the lane closest to him.

“JUST. CROSS. THE. STREET,” I yelled, gesturing towards the designated crossing area directly in front of him.

My father waved his hand in a dramatic downward motion, indicating that my idea was unacceptable. He then resumed his lasso-like arm-swinging gesture, but this time pointed his other hand in the direction of the flow of traffic, presumably because he was unsure if in my 20+ years of nearly constant international travel, I’d ever noticed airport traffic only goes one way. 

Anticipating your difficulty in picturing this tense and complicated situation, I’ve illustrated the scenario for you thusly:


My sister Jeannie was pleased to see me when I pulled up at the curb thirty minutes later, but my father wouldn’t speak to me. I apologized for not realizing they were arriving at that day and time, but that I never received an e-mail with the relevant details.

“I E-MAILED YOU YESTERDAY! DIDN’T I, JEANNIE!?”

“Yes, he did,” she confirmed.

“The last e-mail I got was about the car. Are you sure you sent it to the right address?” I asked.

“I SENT IT TO JOHNNY WHATEVER FUCKING AOL AND DOT MAC THING DAMMIT!”

“Well… um, did you send it to ‘johnnywhatever’ or the actual, correct address?”

My father did not answer and the three of us remained silent for the rest of the drive back to Hollywood.

I was one step into my building when Dad pulled up and screamed out his window, “WAIT! I have to come in. I need the bathroom. It’s number two!”

I closed my eyes and heard the sound of breaking glass in my mind.

Jeannie and I had a pleasant conversation about her trip and our relatives for the fifteen minutes Dad remained in the bathroom. The toilet flushed, my father emerged, and he ordered Jeannie to get going and slammed my front door behind him.

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Reader Comments (1)

Andy

I laughed quite a bit reading this, having an accurate picture of the scowl, George's rather laconic way of expression, at least to you, etc ? in my mind from prior experience!! what no worry beads!! As said in other post I will always remember George wading across the river in Borneo instead of using the rope bridge!! and a whole group going to airport to meet your sister Jeanie and her freakey screemey friends also there!! same time i pantsed Justin at the airport as payback for hisa doing it to Brian earlier but he wasn't flsutered at all, or cool enough not to show it!

Anyway, enjoyed the post!

Mr D AKA Steelear

November 15, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterSteelear

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