On our way home from Reno this summer, we had a layover in Utah. I've never been to Utah before, and I was a little bit excited, even though we'd just be hanging out in the airport. A new place is always cool to check out, and to me, the air always feels different from place to place.
Naturally, our departing gate was about 14 miles away from where we landed. We had to haul our cookies all the way to the other side of the airport, which was freaking ginormous. We only had about an hour and fifteen minutes to get to our departure gate, and I was really starting to worry if we'd make it.
My husband was in the lead. He rounded a corner up ahead, and I hurried so as not to lose sight of him. The last thing I needed was to be lost and wandering by myself through the Salt Lake City airport, crying like an abandoned toddler at the grocery store.
BAM! I ran full speed into some dude, and we were both knocked off of our feet. My purse hit the ground, spilling its contents all over, and this poor guy I'd run down had dropped a whole sheaf of papers, scattering them. "I'm so sorry!" I cried, and immediately began to gather up his papers.
He smiled gratefully and stood, straightening his ball cap and brushing himself off. It took me a moment to realize how tall he was. I couldn't quite make out his eyes behind his glasses. He reached for the stack of papers I had gathered for him. "Have you heard the word of Jehovah?" He asked me in a deep and somehow disturbing voice. Dude sounded like he gargled this morning with broken glass. I stared at his hand and noticed the distinctive spotted fur running up his arm.
"N..no," I sputtered, feeling a chill that seemed to seep into the very marrow of my bones. I was pretty sure this nice man, with glasses and a baseball cap and a big stack of papers, might actually be a giraffe in disguise.
He handed me a paper of the top of the stack. I glanced at it. Watchtower magazine? As in the same Watchtower magazine the nomadic crazies leave in our laundry room every week? I was equipped to deal with vicious, hungry giraffes, but Mormons? Mormon giraffes? Nobody's trained me for this. And furthermore, I would have been willing to bet cash money that giraffes pledged their faith to Scientology. Huh. I looked around wildly, hoping for any chance of escape. There was nothing.
My husband came rushing back to me. "We're going to miss our flight. Come on!" He sounded really annoyed as he grabbed my hand. We sprinted for our gate. I turned around and saw the giraffe begin to run after us. It was too late, we were too slow. It was going to get us.
We were completely winded by the time we got to the ticket counter. The airline rep scanned our tickets and warned us to run, or the plane was going to leave without us.
I heard the distinct sounds of a scuffle behind us. "Sir! You can't go in there without a ticket!" I turned around just in time to see three airport cops wrestling the giant, angry beast to the ground. It snarled and snapped at them as they struggled to get its flailing hooves cuffed behind its back. I smiled in spite of myself as I settled into my window seat while my husband wrestled our carry-ons into the miniscule space available in the overhead compartment.
Another close call, I reflected as the plane took off. My run-ins with these nasty monsters seemed to be growing exponentially. My smile slowly faded as I realized that statistically, it was only a matter of time before I became a delicious, satisfying meal. How many more times would I get lucky?
Giraffes - 0, Jennifer - 5
No comments:
Post a Comment