Memory Lane (VII)

I had to work the day before I was to fly home, and by 6 o' clock I hadn't received my plane ticket (and a ticket for my wife which we of course paid for), nor my severance pay. But I wasn't too worried. If I had been less naive, perhaps I would have been. Since then I've read and heard firsthand numerous stories of teachers getting stiffed at the 11th hour, but ignorance sometimes works in one's favor, and this was one such case. I just made an ass at of you and me and assumed that my boss would hand me my pay and tickets as soon as my last class finished. Which is what happened. No congratulations, no "great job this year. We'll miss you." In fact -- though I'm not positive -- I don't remember the guy even shaking my hand, a courtesy I'm pretty sure even the Pacers management extended to Ron Artest when he was sent to Sacramento. Whatever. It's not as though I was very fond of the guy. He knew my students liked me tremendously, and that's probably why he didn't fire me during the 10th month of my contract when I refused to do makeup classes, without overtime, for the lunar New Year, because it went against my contract. Being a man of principle (and lazy, let's not forget that), I had been ready to quit over the issue, and, in the end, with some unsolicited help from my recruiter, whom my boss called to complain to about me, I got my way. But my boss was none too pleased that I had refused to do his every bidding, and afterwards treated me as though I were a necessary evil, sort of like how every NFL team treats Terrel Owens.

I arrived home at around 10 to find my wife (then girlfriend, for you newcomers), her friend, and my wife-then-girlfriend's mother finishing up cleaning my apartment, god bless 'em. We ordered pizza (Pizza Hut stuffed crust, which I can't recall eating since), and afterwards I packed my clothes and transferred all of my CDs to a huge Case Logic folder I had bought because I figured the cost of shipping all of them in their jewel cases was too expensive. The jewel cases I ended up leaving behind, and I imagine the next person to move into that apartment must have been quite shocked, initially, to find a bookcase full of CDs, and later quite pissed off to discover that none of the cases contained any discs.

After my wife's girlfriend left, we all called it an early night and got ready for bed. Our flight from Incheon -- with stopovers in Tokyo/Narita and then Chicago O'Hare -- was for 11:00am the next day, which meant that, in order to check in 2 hours before departure, we would have to leave by 8am at the latest, in turn meaning we should wake up at 6 to ensure we wouldn't be late should something delay us, which, in my experience (with my wife), is almost always the case. Because I have a hard time falling asleep the night before a flight (RIP Reggie White/Jimmy Walker's dyno-mite!), I popped a Gravol to help put me to sleep.

Bad move. All the pill did was make me drowsy, but ultimately unable to sleep. I was too nervous about the flight, and too excited about the thought of returning home after being away for more than 2 years. I ended up staying awake until 6am, my heart and my mind racing.

I woke up my wife and her mother, took a shower and brushed my teeth, got dressed and threw on my lucky flying cap (over a dozen flights and no crashes so far!), and ate a small breakfast, even though I wasn't hungry. Once we were all ready, we hauled our bags (I thought my wife was concealing a baby elephant in one of hers), through steady rain, to Sinchon rotary to wait for my wife's brother, who was to drive us to Incheon International. Little did I know that the guy had never driven in Seoul -- he's from Daejeon -- and would get lost. We waited and waited, but it was obvious from the conversation I overheard between him and my wife that he wasn't going to make it on time. I hated to be a bastard and not allow my wife to say goodbye to her brother in person, but by that time we were already dangerously late, and I told her that we absolutely had to take an airport limousine bus if we were to have any hope whatsoever of making our flight. Within 15 minutes, an airport bus came along and we boarded.

There was still hope that my wife's brother would be able to see her off, because after we got on the bus my wife called him and told him to stop trying to locate Sinchon and to get his ass on the highway and get to the airport. Once we arrived at Incheon Int'l, my wife and I got our bags and rushed to check in. My wife's mother stayed outside to wait for her son.

I wrote at the beginning of this entry that ignorance is often a blessing, however it was anything but when, upon arriving at the United Airlines desk, we were informed that that my wife would have to purchase a 60,000 won temporary visa for our stopover in Chicago. It wasn't the money, but rather the fact that doing this was going to eat away even more of our already very short time that turned my stomach. We bought the temporary visa, checked our bags, and headed to the customs gate.

Unfortunately, my wife's brother still hadn't shown up. My wife called her mother and told her to come inside, that we had no time to lose and that we needed to pass customs. One of the ticket checkers seconded that statement, telling us that if we didn't go through immediately, we would miss our flight.

Bad fucking luck. Again I felt like a complete bastard, but I had to urge my wife to settle for saying goodbye to her mom over the phone. I wonder, is there anyone who would have done differently?

We passed customs, my wife sobbing visably, and were again told that the flight was ready to leave and that we'd have to hurry if we were to have any chance of making it. In our rush, I nearly left behind my Case Logic book of CDs, which I didn't check. Luckily, one of the airport staff noticed I'd left it behind and ran to give it to my wife, who was trailing me by almost a hundred yards. After running what must have been at least a half kilometer, we arrived at the departure gate, handed them our tickets, and boarded the plane. I was sweating like a madman, and asked a stewardess if I could please have some water. And, bless her (this was a UA flight, remember; I'm lucky she didn't cut off my head a la that nurse in Exorcist III), she got it for me, even smiling in the process.

We found our seats, and I asked my wife if she wouldn't mind taking the window. I've since discovered that, with my fear of flying (fear of dying is more like it; I can't remember which comedian said something along those lines) a window seat is the best thing for me, because I don't feel so much as though I'm trapped in a deathbox bound for hell; but at the time I absolutely did not want to look out the window. The sweet angel agreed.

If you've ever seen Say Anything, that movie's final scene perfectly describes our takeoff, if only it were John Cusack's character nervous about flying, instead of Ione Skye's. My wife, who had never before taken an airplane flight, took my hand, and even though she was still crying a little because she couldn't properly say farewell to her mom and brother, told me not to worry, that everything would be just fine. Then she kissed me and put her head on my shoulder.

To this day I still have a fear of flying that borders on pure terror, but never when my wife is by my side.

Wifey, you are my courage. My adamantium skeleton, if you will.

***

I really hate to stop here, and had intended for this entry to end with our arrival at Toronto's Pearson International Airport (yes, we lived), but the rest will have to wait for another time, barring my untimely demise, hopefully and ironically not due to a highway bus accident. Believe me, there's plenty more interesting parts of that sojourn to be told. As Rod Serling used to say, I hope you'll join us.