Airport Family

At the airport (as I departed for Missouri last month). A man and two women, presumably mother, daughter and son. Very high-strung New Yorkish Latin trio, black hair, olive complexions. Guy overweight, panting, a little sweaty. Sister dressed a bit trampy, a short tight skirt, a pair of traffic-stopping legs, her face overpainted.

Sister: Never again with you, Michael. Never again.

Michael: I guess this is the right line.

Sister: It better be the right line. I ain’t going through this with you twice in one day. Once in one lifetime is enough, thank you. I’m telling you, Michael, I’ve had it with your screwups.

Mom: It just really bothers me. Ten o’clock. We could be there an hour already.

Sister: I can’t believe you did this to us, Michael. Three hours in an airport because of you. When they say the plane is boarding at 7 o’clock, that means 7 o’clock.

Michael: The traffic around here is crazy.

Sister: It’s nothing new Michael. It’s you. If other people can get here on time, you can too.

Mom: Ten o’clock. I’m here three hours already. We could already be there.

Sister: Like I don’t have better things to do with my time.

Mom: Three hours and I haven’t even eaten yet.

Michael: We’ll get the tickets. Then we’ll have time to eat nice.

Sister: I’ve already eaten, Michael: aggravation. Up to here. 

Sister rummages in purse. All take a few moments to rest their mouths and ears.

Michael: It might be hard though with three people...

Sister: I told you we’re getting separate planes. I’m not flying with you.

Michael: They...

Sister: No. Separate planes. You’ve put me through too much already. I can’t hold up under this.

Mom: It just really bothers me, we could be there an hour already. In the hotel. Settled. Having lunch...

Sister: He thinks the whole airport comes to a stop for him. A time is a time, Michael. They don’t hold the airplane for one person.

Michael: It’s so hot in here. I’m sweating like a dog.

Sister: It just really bothers me, I’m spending all morning in an airport because of him. I’ve had all I can handle.

Michael: I’m sweating like a dog! ~ Journal, Jan. 8, 1989