Regular readers may have surmised that I recently spent some time in a jet seated next to someone with marginal control over his own phlegm. Those readers would be right on the money. Over four hours of time I spent, in fact, strapped into a narrow seat fifteen inches away from a snot-snorking, loogie-rattling middle-aged dude with a cache of post-nasal drip that he was augmenting with regularity. I’m sorry–were you eating? Neither was I.
And instead of being random about it, he had also adopted the Chinese water torture aspect in which the event occurs at predictable intervals–in this case, every forty seconds. You become so attuned to this nasal rhythm that you tense up in anticipation at around thirty-two seconds; at thirty-nine you have become rigid with dread. Relief at forty-two is oh so temporary. After the first couple hours the only recourse I had was to attempt to hypnotize myself by watching Two And A Half Men. Tough times call for tough measures.
So I nearly jumped out of the window when the dude, out of nowhere, abruptly turned to me and said, “In 1964 I braided horses’ tails for $25.”
Silence. “The eagle flies at midnight,” I said cautiously. Satisfied, he returned to his mucus-herding project for another half hour. Then:
“Do you do yours yourself?” I was at sea. Then he pointed at my braid.
I have long hair that I customarily fold into a French braid because otherwise I would spend my waking hours splitting the ends. This is a dreadful compulsion that I had when I first grew my hair out at age twelve. I spent much of my adult life with very short hair and then was relieved to discover that I’d gotten over the hair-splitting thing when I grew it out again in my fifties. But I hadn’t. It’s just that, what with the presbyopia and all, I could no longer focus on the ends at shoulder-length; but a few inches later I was right back at it.
I told the dude I did my hair myself. “How do you keep it so centered?”
Huh? I use the hands on the ends of my arms, which are the same length.
Phlegm-ball production resumed and I excused myself. How long are you allowed to spend in the lavatory on a plane? Shortly before landing, he leaned towards me and said “You should do horses.” No one has ever told me that before.
It is really saying something that the least objectionable part of this flight was the fact that my hair reminded someone of a horse’s ass. However, I got a different perspective on that when I saw a picture in the paper of a fellow manning a plow behind a pair of beautiful draft horses. He was Mr. Duane Van Dyke, and he is the president of the Oregon Draft Horse Breeders’ Association. He maintained, and I quote, “When you plow with these horses, you can’t get much closer to God.”
Well, he was sure close to something. I guess if God speaks through a whirlwind and a burning bush, his voice could come out of anywhere.
OMG! A great morning laugh out loud with coffee.(Maybe a little warning – leave food alone for a minute)
have just lost last modicum of professional decorum reading this and hooting out loud while allegedly looking something up for a student during class.
Goody! You're way too old for professional decorum. You're ready for the wild-eyed eccentric stage.
did you say god spoke from a phlegm-"ing" bush? THIS IS HAIR RAISING! i feel upbraided. hack hack cough cough
sorry, meant UNbraided
And people wonder why I don't speak on planes. Wonder no more. The explanation is perfectly captured right here. Nice use of a Belgian draft horse for phlemish!
You had me at "The eagle flies at midnight" – I could swear you were exchanging spy-talk.
Ah, the joys of flying and nasal passengers. I thought they all sat next to me, but now that I've read your saga, I am selfishly relieved to know I am not alone!!
So Tim: think I was the only person who went down to the Rose Festival Parade just to take pictures of horse butts?
Hysterical! As someone who has shown horses and is currently dealing with postnasal issues (though not to the extent you describe!), I'd like to share the following–(1) a little self-awareness goes a long way–I give you tons of credit for your self control!, (2) braiding horses' manes and tails takes a fair amount of practice and is a marketable skill at horse shows, and (3) I'd MUCH rather stand at the back end of a horse than sit next to someone who is snorking and phlegm herding!
Enjoyed your post and hope you don't take serious offense to the comparison with a horse's butt–I had to wait over 30 years to have one of my own to brush and hug.
I firmly believe the airlines should use a system like Match.com. I'd be happy to supply an extensive profile. The computer would then shuffle the seat assignments accordingly, raising the odds that I'd sit next to somebody marginally compatible. And that the combined weight of the 3 of us in one row would never exceed 500 pounds. Of course then we'd never these great stories!
Your posts always make me laugh – I assume that's the purpose or maybe you don't intend to be so funny, you just are! Keep 'em coming! Reminds me of a photo a co-worker had of her ex-husband beside 2 draft horses butts. She said it was her favorite photo to carry around because it always reminded her of what a horse's ass he was so he fit right in between the other two.
Very funny!
The eagle flies at midnight.
hysterical!
also a new spin on God is everywhere!
Sniff,Snort and Swallow. I had tears in my eyes. Thanks for the humor. I thought I had to go to a retirement party with the promise of a Murr Poem to laugh like that! p.s. I would stay late just to hear one.
I think the word phlegm is the one I most love to hate in the English language.
I think the word phlegm is the one I most love to hate in the English language.
Your posts always make me laugh – I assume that's the purpose or maybe you don't intend to be so funny, you just are! Keep 'em coming! Reminds me of a photo a co-worker had of her ex-husband beside 2 draft horses butts. She said it was her favorite photo to carry around because it always reminded her of what a horse's ass he was so he fit right in between the other two.
sorry, meant UNbraided
Goody! You're way too old for professional decorum. You're ready for the wild-eyed eccentric stage.
You had me at "The eagle flies at midnight" – I could swear you were exchanging spy-talk.
Ah, the joys of flying and nasal passengers. I thought they all sat next to me, but now that I've read your saga, I am selfishly relieved to know I am not alone!!
Well stroked, I shall never clear my throat, again, without feeling pre-chastened (not to mention entertained) by you.
Good yob!
decoriousLee, speaking, that is,