I'm at the airport and, for the second time, I've still got both my kidneys. I'm one lucky bastard!
Ana forgot to warn me that her little sister is the size of a tractor. I managed to get out of the room and bolt down the stairs without any broken bones. Now that's what I call presence of mind!
I study the departures and arrivals board carefully.
Frankfurt?
Ugh! No, thanks. Germans are such cold people you can feel your balls freeze while you're talking to them.
Okay, I don't personally know any Germans, but I don't need to. I'm informed! I've watched tons of documentaries about World War II. Frankfurt sucks!
Palermo?
Mmm... I don't know, really. It's a great idea, but... not right now. Maybe another time. If it weren't December, who knows...
Anyway, Italian women are hot. I know that for sure. I once saw a porn movie with Italian girls and it was solid.
On top of that, down south they've got some pretty nice orange groves. Uh-huh. And there are yachts, beautiful coves with crystal-clear water, and probably boats with oarsmen who lean over and whisper "'O sole mio!" in your ear.
I saw an artsy movie two years ago. It was shot down in southern Italy and it was awesome!
Wait a second, Tiberiu... that movie ended badly. Remember?!
There was a scene where the good guy takes a very negative oar to the head, then they tie an anchor to his feet and toss him overboard
How can you be that reckless, man? No, no! Italy is out of the question!
Where the hell is Dubai on this board?
Stop, Tiberiu, stop! Why the hell are you even looking for Dubai? Why?
Because Ana told you to?
Don't you know you always have to do the exact opposite of what a woman tells you? When a woman says you have to go to Dubai, that means you need to run the other way. Even a chicken could figure that out.
Half an hour later I've got a plane ticket to Thailand in my pocket. Oh yes, to Thailand.
My ticket is one-way. I'd have to be insane to ever want to come back.
I'm calm. I've made peace with the idea that I'm leaving for good, no coming back. Actually, I feel this endless calm inside me. I feel like a monk who, after fifty years of fasting and praying, has finally been touched by the Holy Spirit.
Now that I've got the ticket in my pocket, I don't know if it's because of Ana's pills, but everything in the airport is moving slowly. Like in slow motion. People, suitcases, even the announcements over the loudspeakers all move like honey in a barrel.
I raise my hand and look at it. Woooow! I had no idea my hand was so interesting. Such fine fingers!
I stare at it for minutes or hours or weeks. I think I could keep staring forever, but just then a voice from above announces it's time to head to the boarding gate.
And everything suddenly speeds up. I end up with a chubby customs lady who starts grilling me. She seems upset she has nothing to check.
"How come?" she asks, for the umpteenth time. "You really don't have any luggage at all?"
"No," I reply calmly.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't. I don't need luggage."
The fat woman snorts angrily and gives me an offended look. Who do I think I am, trying to fool her?
"Sir! People going to Thailand always bring luggage. Clothes, towels, toothbrushes..."
"But I don't need a toothbrush."
I blow into my palm, then turn to the guy on my left.
"Does my breath stink?"
The guy looks at me coldly and shrugs. He's made peace with his fate. He and others like him have to quietly wait their turn while this round customs officer finishes with me.
"You see, ma'am?" I tell her, smiling. "My breath doesn't stink, so I don't need a toothbrush or luggage. Case closed."
"That's for me to decide," she growls. "What's that? A lighter? Hand it over! Didn't you know you're not allowed to bring lighters or matches on board?"
"So how am I... supposed to light my cigarette?"
A vein swells on her temple. She takes a deep breath and answers in an icy voice, like she's slowly crushing a worm under her heel, "You're not allowed to smoke on the plane, so you don't need a lighter. Hand it over."
The lighter disappears. I feel tears of frustration coming. Goddammit! What do you mean there's no smoking on the plane? How is that possible? Not even in the bathroom? God, what kind of world do we live in?
But the customs cow is not done with me. What the hell is her problem now? What else does she want-- a colonoscopy?
I feel my patience snap and I bark at her, annoyed, "Listen... uh... I've got my passport, my ticket, and my bank card. Okay? I think that's enough. Let other people wreck their backs with suitcases, towels, backpacks, and bags. I admit, I'm a lazy guy by nature. Is that a crime? What's the problem?"
"You seem suspicious. That's the problem!"
I burst out laughing. I'm grinning from ear to ear. The guy on my left takes a step back. I laugh even harder. Me, suspicious? Me? Then I get pissed off just as fast and snap at her, "Listen here, ma'am! What kind of joke is this? Is this what you think a terrorist looks like? Take a good look at me!"
"Oh, I am looking!" she snaps. "So what?"
"What do you see? Isn't it obvious I'm harmless? I'm peaceful, for fuck's sake! If I were a terrorist, with how slowly you move, I'd have had time to blow this airport up a hundred times already. But that's not the case! Actually, I'm the one being terrorized here. By you!"
The more I talk, the more worked up I get.
"Sir!" the fatty barks at me. "Lower your voice! Control yourself!"
"I am in control!" I answer, furious. "You haven't checked me enough already? What else do you want to know? What color my underwear is? You think I've got an explosive vest hidden down there?"
That's it, Tiberiu, my boy! You can say a lot of things in an airport, but there are two words you should always keep to yourself. Don't say them! If you do, you're done for!
I barely got "explosive vest" out of my mouth before the train hit me. A fat guy the size of a locomotive tackled me like we were playing rugby. On top of him flew another fat guy, also in uniform, and on top of that one landed a third fat guy.
I don't know what criteria they use to pick airport security staff, but weight definitely seems to be one of them.
God, please, don't let the customs cow throw herself on the pile too or I'm done!
I'm lying face down on the light-blue tiles and all I can see in front of me is a long, purple tongue neatly rolled out on the floor. Ugly tongue. How can it be that long? Oh wait, that's my tongue! Oh, crap!
I can't breathe at all. I can't make a sound. My ribs haven't snapped yet, but there are a few creaks here and there. What the hell is this, anyway? An airport or a sumo competition?
Above me, the fatties start arguing with each other.
"Does he have an explosive vest?"
"Maybe he does!"
"If he manages to hit the button, we're screwed! Don't let him!"
"I'm not letting him!"
"Hold his hands!"
"I am holding them!"
"Those are my hands, you idiot!"
"Sorry, boss."
And so on. I don't get to hear much more, because everything just goes black.
When I come to, I realize there's no fat guy on top of me anymore. They've all disappeared. Vanished into thin air.
A sweet old lady pulls out a bottle and sprinkles water on my face.
"Thank you, ma'am!"
People are nudging each other around me. The braver ones whip out their phones and take pictures of me.
People are just plain idiots. I have to get used to that.
Through the giggles and all the fuss, I get up from the floor with a groan and limp back to the customs counter.
"So," I say, "shall we continue?"
The woman stares at me, then sighs and signals to a colleague.
"You take this gentleman. I can't handle him anymore."
This time things move faster.
"You don't have any luggage?"
I hope this one isn't an idiot too.
"I don't."
"Very good. Less hassle for you. But do you have a visa for Thailand?"
Aha! This customs guy is clearly not an idiot. I'm the idiot. I want to get into Thailand without a visa.
"Don't worry," he adds with a smile. "It's not a problem if you don't."
He calmly explains that I can get a temporary visa on arrival, that it's valid for fifteen days, and that they only give it if you have a round-trip ticket. And mine is one-way.
I look at him, grateful as hell. Look, finally, a human being! Not all people are idiots. I have to get used to that idea too.
"I'll be right back!" I say quickly, pulling my card out of my pocket. "Back in a sec! Check the others while I'm gone."
I move at the speed of light. In less than ten minutes I'm back, waving ticket number two, the return ticket.
Now I'm good. The nice customs guy wishes me a pleasant flight. So the Bible isn't completely accurate. Turns out there is at least one decent tax collector!
"You'll give me my lighter back too, right?" I ask hopefully. "I've got another three hours to wait in the boarding area. I'm going to be bored."
"No can do," he answers, amused.
Oh, fuck you, customs guy! I knew the Bible wasn't lying!
The three hours crawl by. I make myself all kinds of promises. I tell myself I'll find some cherry-flavored tobacco in Thailand. I heard from someone it actually exists. Or I'll buy cigars at ten dollars apiece. Or I'll...
"Please prepare for boarding!"
Okay, enough daydreaming! From now on I'm going to start living my dreams for real. The time has come.
Thailand, you ready?
Watch out, I'm coming!