Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Asiana Crash Part 3

Let me set the scene for you.

We're in an airport Hilton in Chicago.  On the television are aerial shots of the crashed plane by the runway in San Francisco.  In front of the television are my two children.  On the bed is my wife, frantically checking websites, with my cell phone at her side waiting for Virgin America to answer.

It's time to go swimming.  There are of course, three major problems with swimming:
  1. All our swimsuits are still on the plane.
  2. All our swimsuits are still on the plane.
  3. All our swimsuits are still on the plane.
However, just across from the hotel in the maze beneath O'Hare is a small store.  I don't have a picture of this store, but try to imagine a place where unwanted products go to die.  It's a small shop with broken toys, stale candy, wrinkled magazines, and the ugliest set of swimwear you could ever see.  I'm not kidding; the next time I wear that swimsuit I'll be working as a rodeo clown.
I'm pretty sure the Arc of the Covenant is in there.

I spent a lot of time picking out a suit for my son while he played with a toy sheep with a Christmas hat.  He named it "Sheepy" and kept squeezing it because there was something hard inside and he insisted it would make noise.  I didn't have the heart to tell him the batteries had probably run out back in the 70s when it first came to this shop.

I wasn't happy about the fit of the suits (my son is built like a mop handle and I'm... not), so I asked if they had a changing room.  It was a silly question; what convenience store has a changing room?  However, she opened a door for us, and we found ourselves in the back room with stockpiles of sodas and bags of chips from the Truman administration.  As we tried the suits on, I kept turning my son away from the wrapped piles of gay porn.  Meanwhile, he kept trying to convince me to buy him Sheepy.  I tell him no for three reasons:
  1. We just bought you a stuffed animal.
  2. We just bought you a stuffed animal.
  3. We just bought you a stuffed animal.
We go back to the room and find my other son still watching the crash and my wife still waiting for Virgin to answer the phone while scanning the internet for news.

I make them go back to the store with me and buy more swimsuits.  My son shows them Sheepy and, again, fails to get it to make noise or us to buy it.  Then we head over to the pool.  The is in a kind of low-pressure zone from all the cold blasts of air from the a/c.  It's nearly impossible to open the door to the pool due to the rushing wind trying to get in, and that's even with the vent they put in the wall to equalize the pressure.

We spend an hour in the hot tub and, when we get out to dry ourselves off, I find I have a text message from my mother.  The debris at SFO had been cleared and the plane would leave in an hour.  The message had been sent half an hour earlier.

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