Twice-Told Tales
Dear friends, family, and frenemies,
"Why do you tell people that story? It makes you sound ridiculous," remarked my husband. Why, indeed? I guess I am just unable to resist telling a good story, even if it does make me look bad. And if I must sacrifice my pride to get a good laugh, a shocked expression, or a look of incredulity, I'm happy to do that.
I'll start with the story that garnered my husband's comment. If you've known me for long, you already know both of these tales but maybe I can add a few new details. It was March of 1986. I had a five-year-old and a nine-month-old. I was working part-time for a publishing company. I was scheduled to go from St. Louis, MO, to New Orleans for an educational conference to work at the booth. I was excited to get away for a few days. I had received Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion for Christmas, but I hadn't managed to read a word of it in three months. I was looking forward to a nice long plane ride to read and relax. And I did get a nice long plane ride and plenty of time to read, just not in the way I expected.
I arrived at the gate in St. Louis early and settled in to read my book. No one enjoys peace and quiet quite as much as a young mother suddenly set free from her duties. I may have even laughed aloud a few times, but I'm not sure. I waited for my flight to be announced. When those around me got up to board, I joined them. I found my seat, sat down, and continued reading. A man appeared and claimed that I was in his seat. I showed him my boarding pass, and he showed me his. These things happen. He disappeared. I kept reading. In those long-ago days when flying was less routine, I generally introduced myself to my seat mates. However, on that day, I wasn't in the mood; I just kept reading. I leaned back as the plane taxied. The captain greeted us and announced, " We will be arriving in Washington, D. C. in ..." I turned to my seat mate and asked, "Is he joking?" The person looked at me strangely and said no he wasn't joking. I stood up, raised my ticket, and exclaimed, "But I'm flying to New Orleans." People turned and stared. Perhaps you remember the E.F. Hutton commercial with two passengers on a plane discussing their financial advisor. When one man says, "My broker is E.F. Hutton," everyone stand ups and stares at the speaker. My situation was something like that. I wasn't exactly a celebrity, but I did get a lot of attention. The flight attendant rushed back. I felt sure that once the error was realized that I would be taken back to the gate. That was not to be the case. Did I mention that there was a Door A and a Door B at the gate? It turns out that I had gone through Door A when I should have gone through Door B.
Now I was in a pickle. I was supposed to be in New Orleans to cover the booth that afternoon. I wondered if I would have to pay for the extra flight. Not only was I not going to earn a day's pay, I was also going to have to buy a ticket. Well, what could I do? I sat back and read my book. When we arrived in Washington, I got off the plane, bought a postcard, and mailed it to my friend whose boyfriend lived in D.C. "Guess where I am? " I scribbled. Lucky for me, the plane and crew went directly back to St. Louis. Not only did I not have to pay for the flight, but I was entitled to free alcohol. What a deal. I ordered a Bloody Mary. The flight attendant said that I was the best-natured person that this had ever happened to. That made me feel good. I leaned back, sipped my Bloody Mary, and kept reading. I arrived at the same gate in St. Louis where I had begun six hours earlier. Eventually, I got to New Orleans. Our most famous author was at the booth. He was a quiet and serious man. When he heard my story, he laughed until he cried. It was a good day.
You did notice how I was able to read through anything in the story above? This next story shows my strong powers of concentration once again. I just don't seem to be concentrating on the world around me. This story took place in the summer of 1975 in Champaign, IL. Some friends and I went to McDonald's. Rantoul Air Force Base was nearby. There was a display of replica airplanes in the glass case across from the order counter. While my friends ordered, I turned my back to the order counter and looked in the display case. The case was mirrored. Instead of looking at the model planes, I was taken by my own hair. I turned my head a few times admiring what a good hair day I was having. When I turned around, the place was empty and completely silent. I was taken aback. My friends eventually appeared. They were quite worked up. "Why didn't you take cover?" they asked. "Cover from what?" I inquired. They told me that a masked and armed gunman had come in and robbed the place. Had I been looking at something other than my own hair, I might have seen him in the mirror... I used to have the newspaper clipping to prove that the robbery occurred. I wasn't called to be an eyewitness.
Titivating and tizivating,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma
