Life is beautiful. I’m in the airport, alive, with no missing kidneys.
More than that, I had the chance to see what an airport looks like inside, and I got a very good first impression. Behind the doors it’s dark and cold, but in here there’s air conditioning, and lots of seats that you can use to nap. About a quarter of the people here are napping.
I’m a bit hungry, but I can’t see any place selling vodka and tomato juice, so, as a sacrifice, I buy a burger with double mayo and a coffee. I take a seat and relax, but a jolt of realization tells me I’m here for a reason. I must leave, today!
Before getting the chance to decide between Dubai and Thailand, I felt like skimming through a book I bought from one of the airport’s stands.
I sip my coffee quietly, glance from time to time at the clock on the wall that is now showing 10:30 PM, then focus my attention back on the book. The cover is nice! Let’s see what this novel is all about.
Yep, even though I don’t think I’m terribly smart, I realize from the first pages this is about perversions and dark stuff. Once I’m absorbed by the pages, I completely forget about my coffee.
The plot is simple and sad.
A virgin girl ends up in a dark park. Naturally!
She meets a young handsome man (they’re always handsome). He takes the naive girl for a walk in a dark alley to confess his feelings for her.
Coincidentally, the young handsome man meets a friend of his at the end of the alley (another handsome man).
The girl discovers Santa Claus is not real. I skip the next page. And the next…
Of course, it gets sadder and sadder. She loses her mind because of the shame, poor girl.
I quickly glance at the cover. What’s up with this author? What’s up with this ass? Couldn’t he find another subject to write about? It would have been better to buy a newspaper instead. I would have found the same subjects in there for a fraction of the cost.
Anyway, I get back to my book. The plot sucks, but I don’t like leaving things unfinished.
The unfortunate girl ends up in the nuthouse. Very predictable, but this is not all. One of the young men learns what it means to flip your dick left and right, because the girl’s father is not dead, but patiently waits and watches in the park, and, after a few weeks, he gets his hands on one of the thugs.
I find out from the next page that the girl’s father is a doctor. It explains everything. That’s why the girl was in the park at a late hour. Doctors are so busy with their lives; they don’t have any time to prepare their spawns for real life.
Well… the rapist is knocked out, kidnapped, taken to the doctor’s home, shackled in his basement, pumped with hormones, injected with all sorts of chemicals, and forced to take hundreds of pills.
Doctors, man… They’re so obsessed with their careers even when they’re taking revenge. I’ve never had the chance to visit a doctor in his home, but now, after reading this, I’m not even tempted to ever do it.
Okay, my coffee cup is empty. I’m a bit curious to see how the novel ends, but first I’m going to get another coffee. Caffeine is great! Completely awake, I get back to my book.
My God! The doctor gives the guy a sex reassignment surgery, then does very unorthodox things to his new organ. Seriously?
“Fuckin’ asshole! Have you ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath? What a shitty book!”
It’s clearly visible the author is even more demented than his characters. I throw another glance at the cover and realize why. The author is French. I was suspecting that, but I just wanted to make sure.
Everyone knows the French are perverts, and they create perverted writers. Marquis de Sade is one such writer. This guy who wrote a book about rape in the park, in the basement, and about crazy doctors is another example.
How could the doctor fall in love with the transexual who raped his daughter?
“Jesus! What a nut job!”
It was enough. I don’t want to read one more line. I bet it has a terrible ending. All that’s left now is for the girl to get out of the psychiatric unit and fall in love with her father.
Dude, you’d think this is a book specially written to be read in airports, between two landings and a soda. But it’s…
“Bullshit!”
“Please stop swearing.”
The woman on my left pierces me with angry eyes. There are two empty chairs and a suitcase between us. I pick up the book and show her the title.
“Don’t spend money on this novel,” I warn her. “It’s a bad investment. I’m serious! It’s written by a sexually deviant author, and every page contains two-three perversions.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says in a bored tone.
“Just a second… Did you say I was swearing?”
“Only every two minutes.”
“I apologize. Today I hit my head in a taxi,” I confess. “And that’s not all. You’re right. Sometimes I talk to myself out loud without realizing it. Actually, I read somewhere about a syndrome that makes you say bad things without meaning to. It’s called…”
“Tourette’s Syndrome,” she continues while staring at me as I throw the book in the trash. “It’s a syndrome discovered by a French doctor.”
“I could have sworn he was French,” I remark in disgust, then I pull the book out of the trash can and show her the name on the cover. “See? The author of this novel is also French. Would you like to read it? I finished it. Well, I didn’t finish it really, but I’m done with it!”
“Not, thank you, sir. You just said is full of nasty things.”
“Yes, it’s a miserable book filled with sex scenes and violence.”
“Then I don’t want it,” she says, digging through her purse. “Throw it back in the bin. I’m sorry you suffer from Tourette’s,” she says closing her purse. She shows me a cigarette. “Could you watch my luggage for a couple of minutes?”
I don’t think she’s very smart. She jumps to conclusions too quickly.
“But I don’t have any syndrome,” I mentioned irritated. “Did I ever say that? No! I said ‘I read somewhere’ about this syndrome.”
“Of course,” she says nodding vigorously. “Well, will you watch my luggage while I go smoke?”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I might fall asleep… who knows? Truth is, I’m exhausted and I’ll most likely fall asleep. The only thing keeping me awake so far was that nasty book.”
“Yes, but… Can you…?
“Yes, I know, I know. Your cigarette, the luggage! Why don’t you let me finish my idea? You said you’re going to smoke, not going to the bathroom. Why are you in such a rush? Oh, I know. You’re going to the bathroom to smoke, and that way you hit two birds with one stone.”
The woman watches me for a few seconds and then lets out a sigh, puts the cigarette back in her purse, and sits back down.
“Okay,” she says sourly. “Screw the cigarette. What were you saying?”
“Nothing. I was rambling. My sleep even went away, so you can go smoke in peace. I’ll watch your luggage. I won’t move from here and guard them with my life.”
“You don’t have any luggage.”
“I don’t.”
“And you want to watch mine?”
“I don’t but you keep insisting.”
“Okay, but I haven’t realized you didn’t have any luggage until now.”
I slowly turn my head toward her and blink in confusion.
“So, how’s that related? Why does it matter I have no luggage.”
“It doesn’t,” she answers quickly and then goes silent.
She pulls out a newspaper and turns her attention to it. I watch her perplexed for a few seconds, and suddenly realization hits me. I burst out laughing.
“I got it now!”
“What’s so funny?”
“I understand the thing with the luggage,” I say amused. “I got it.”
“You’re a very wise man.”
“You thought I was going to steal it.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” she answers visibly irritated.
I bite my lip trying to stop myself from laughing again.
“Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. I really wanted to take off with it, and now I’m sorry for not letting you go smoke. I was an idiot. Be honest, is there anything valuable in there? Come on, be honest. I don’t like wasting my time. Maybe I should go sit next to someone else.”
She starts giggling softly. Her teeth are pretty.
“If you steal it, you’re in for the disappointment of your life.”
“I like the way you laugh. I like you. I would sit with you for hours on end listening to your laughter, but I have to leave. I got the urge to smoke now. Can you watch your own luggage until I return?”
“But I want to smoke too,” she protests pitifully. “I’ve been wanting to go smoke long before you sat here.”
“Well, then I suggest we both release ourselves of this burden. I’ll help you carry the suitcases outside, and we both get to smoke. That way they’ll be safer. If anyone comes near them, I’ll hold them and you’ll hit them.”
“Okay,” she answers with a smile.
My God… It’s freezing outside. I smoke my cigarette, shiver, and glance at the girl from the corner of my eye. I’d say she’s a bit older than me, but you never can tell.
Her hair is dyed red, her lipstick is red, her nails are long and red. It’s clear to me.
“You’re a special woman,” I say dryly.
She seems surprised but continues to puff from her cigarette, blowing the smoke toward me, but I don’t say a word.
I don’t have anything left to say either. This big suitcase drained me of energy and broke my back. I now understand why she couldn’t go outside by herself with all of this after her. Some people are so stupid, they pack half their homes when going somewhere. It’s just a vacation, for fuck’s sake.
“So, I’m special,” she chirps. “Thank you, but there’s no need for compliments.”
I’m under the impression she’s hitting on me. The last thing I need is to hunt for skirts at the airport. The chapter called “How About I Hook Up” is long closed. I’m not interested in women anymore. For the foreseeable future, all I care about is a soft bed to sleep on.
I hope she’s just teasing me and isn’t actually hitting on me. That would be sad.
“After all,” she continues without looking my way, “do you swear because you have Tourette’s or because you simply lack common sense? Come on, tell me. I’m curious.”
“Let’s try another way. First, you tell me where you’re flying to, and then I’ll answer your question.”
She lets out a sigh and waves her hand at me in dismissal.
“I’m not flying anywhere. Truth is, I arrived from Vienna an hour ago. My sister is on her way to get me together with her sweet husband. Or at least they were supposed to be on their way. They’re having some car trouble, so…”
“That sucks.”
“It really does. They at least promised me to get it fixed within the hour, so I’m waiting for her as patiently as a mouse. Meanwhile, I smoke a cig here and there, if I manage to fool someone to carry my heavy luggage outside.”
“That sounds fair. If I were a helpless woman I’d do the same thing. My turn to answer. I swear because I don’t have any common sense. Yep, it’s just a quick way to cool myself off.”
“I suspected that much. I admit to sometimes cooling myself off by saying stuff, or at least thinking them. Everyone does that.”
“That’s just a fad to you, but I actually feel the need to swear. Today I had a horrible day. As so was yesterday. And the day before that. Actually, for a while now, my days are just messed up.”
“Welcome to the club,” she says smiling. “I know the feeling, buddy. I’m having a really hard time, but I’m trying not to let it show.”
“You seem like a nice and balanced woman. You maybe even are. How old did you say you were? Forty-five?”
“Drop it,” she says coldly. “You know very well I never brought that up.”
“Why are you pissed? I clearly told you I lack common sense. So, you’re forty-five?”
“You have absolutely no manners,” she growls. She throws the cigarette butt, and lights another, then looks me in the eye while twisting a strand of red hair between her fingers. “Do I look forty-five? Is that what you think?”
Well, well… now she’s all saucy. Really now? She’s starting to bore me.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I answer with a yawn. “I’m too tired to think. It doesn’t even matter how old you are. My eyes are drooping. I’m going back to the waiting area to look for a soft and cozy chair. It was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you with your luggage. I’m exhausted.”
“Only an ass would do that.”
“What don’t you understand? I’m telling you again that I’m tired. Coffee and cigarettes aren’t doing the trick anymore. I’m going back.”
“I’m forty-seven years old, and shame on you for making me tell you. Okay?”
“Okay. I could have sworn you were forty-seven I suggested you were forty-five just to make you feel better, but I know you’re at least forty-eight or forty-nine.”
I watch her gasp.
“You… are…”
“An idiot,” I admit.
“I wanted to say rude, but ‘idiot’ works too.,” she says coldly. “Now, like a well-mannered rude man that you are, you’re going to grab this heavy suitcase, and I’ll take the lighter one. We’ll return to the lounge together, and you’ll accompany me to my seat.”
“And then what?”
“Then you can do whatever. You can walk away, sleep, slit your wrists. Whatever you feel like.”
I look at the big suitcase with terror. I’m a gentleman, but it’s so heavy…
Her phone rings, and after a one-minute conversation, I realize that Tourette’s is contagious. The woman ends her pouring of swears as suddenly as she started. The airport is quiet and peaceful again.
She hangs up huffing and puffing, looks at me, and I stare back at her.
“So, the car trouble is going to take longer than an hour?”
“No,” she says while texting angrily. “I need a taxi, God damn it. I have to find a hotel. It’s close to… oh… those assholes! Fuckin’ assholes! How can they do this to me?”
“It will be okay. Don’t sulk.”
“I will!”
“What for? Come on. Don’t make it sound so tragic. Nobody died. You’ll find a taxi and a hotel, and tomorrow you’ll get to see your idiots, and that will be it. You’ll get rid of me in a few minutes. Taxi drivers in this city don’t like me, and I’m already blacklisted by the hotels in the area if such a list exists. I’ll sleep on the chairs at the airport tonight. And tomorrow… I’ll leave. Actually, I was going to ask you something.”
“Spill.”
“What type of face do I have? Do I look like someone from Thailand or Dubai? Look at me from the side. Now front.”
“Can you stop? What’s all this crap about?”
“I was just asking. Anyway, let’s take your luggage to that taxi. Oh, snap! Wait…”
“What is it?”
I point to the building across the street. We were looking at the hotel, and the hotel was looking at us.
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