Ok, I'm lazy. I wrote to the kids to advise them that Mom arrived just fine...sort of, in Oz yesterday. I did forward this to my brother and sister you two too can skip this. Ma and Pa can read it if they want more grizzly details of the morning, but I wouldn't recommend it. Some people write these beautiful books, "A Letter to My Daughter" or son. My poor kids just get this kind of junk. I'm hoping they don't turn out as psycho-killers.
I'll post a few pictures soon of Holly's adventures in Oz.
Hi Kids,
I know you know Mom left and after a series of cluster cusses (Mom watched some kid's movie, The Incredible Mr. Fox or something like that, during her flight where they said that often) she managed to get to my flat.
My car wouldn't start this morning in spite of all the tricks I've learned to get it going (except the part where you wait the amount of time it takes to enjoy a pint). In my panic, I thought I'd go up on the train. I didn't have enough cash for a ticket so had to walk about twice as far and back to get to an ATM. The closest one used to be for my bank, but they removed it a few months ago so onto the next one...out of service! So onto the next one again and I finally got some money out and they got their $2 service fee! Back to the train station where a train was due to arrive any minute but it would get me to the airport about an hour after you Mom would clear customs. As I was debating whether that would be a good Plan B, I saw the ticket machine was out of order and with my so-called luck running the way it was this morning, I knew the cops would be on the train checking tickets and wouldn't believe my story, handing me a $200 ticket that I'd have to defend in court and waste most likely, and entire day. So, I went back home to try and have your Mom paged to tell her to take the train.
I looked on line and nothing about paging people at the airport. I looked in the Yellow Pages only to realize it was a local addition and the only airport was the Illawarra International (joke) airport. So, back on line and I actually found a real phone number, not just some link for shopping or other unimportant garbage. I called and after a series of push this button if you want this or that button if you want that, a very young woman answered (I assume blonde) who was shocked that I'd even ask such a stupid question! "We can't use the airport PA system to page anyone!" she responded. She did give me a number for the Qantas ticket counter where they might page her if they had the time (and were in the mood). Of course, it was the wrong phone number and I ended up in Qantas' Lost Luggage department where another woman answered and seemed somewhat put out at hunting some foreigner down, but she took the information and hung up.
Soon, your Mom rang me to say she'd gotten the message. Apparently this woman had to find Mom anyway because Alaska Airlines put her luggage on a flight to Sydney all right, but via LA not San Francisco, so your pitiful Mom was the last passenger standing at the carousel waiting patiently for the bag that never came. Not only did this workout for her to get informed that my car's 'critical need' chip kicked in at just the right moment...when I really needed the car. You know those chips they put in everything that senses when you really need to use some equipment such as a printer for that term paper or copier for something important? Well, this car has one, too! You Mom caught the train and didn't need to worry about lugging around 50 lbs of...well, luggage. Qantas will deliver it to the flat tomorrow. Fortunately, your Mom has stockpiled some clothes here and was able to shower and change into a few fresh items.
After her call to tell me the above and assure me that taking the train was ok, I was trying to un-rattle my brain from the hectic and impotent morning. I thought I'd call NRMA (the Aussie AAA) for some assistance in getting the car started. They usually take an hour so I thought I'd fix breakfast since part of my plan was to cruise Makkas for a big brekky of a sausage McMuffin breakfast. I threw on one of those big bacon slices that looks like a side of hog in itself, a hash brown square and took out 2 eggs, ready to fry. I got the coffee ready to go since I'd made a cup earlier to take with on my drive to Sydney that never happened and later dumped out because its a fine to eat or drink on the train that I never caught. Just as I was ready to flip the eggs, I heard a noise and sure enough, it was the NRMA guy looking for me. Off goes the stove and out the door I go to 'assist' this guy. My assistance consisted mostly of unsuccessfully trying to stay out of his way. He did get it started after a bit and told me what I'd already knew, that some sensor on the crankshaft was failing, which is common on this particular car. He said the connection often gets full of dirt and water and after blowing some air on it and cleaning it out, the car started right up. I let it run for awhile since the battery was getting low from my clumsy attempts earlier that morning to get it going.
He left and I went in to re-heat my big brekky and I'm sure you know that all that stuff re-heated, especially eggs, just don't have the appeal of fresh off the grill food. Since I was dressed, I was very careful as I ate, bending way over the plate to avoid advertising on my shirt and pants to my coworkers what I had for breakfast. There was one, tiny, little piece of bacon left. I stabbed it with my fork and just as I got it to my mouth, it fell off the fork, rolling down my shirt and pants like a snowball on a slope of virgin snow. You know how they make those pretty little circles as the snowball merrily bounces down the hill? Well, my shirt and the hillside formed by ginormas belly was just like that. So pretty in a greasy kind of way. I said (something like) "Oh darn!" and decided I wasn't going to change, I'd just come to work like this and if they didn't like it, they could smell as well as see my morning!!!
Holly called me at work when she got to the flat and I could hardly wait to meet her for lunch. I went home to a hug and a kiss, 4 months in the making and we went off to get a Moka Burger. Crazy Con is a big older Greek guy who is great. Whenever he serves up french fries, he'll come over to your table and ask if they're all right, won't believe you, then grab a few just to make sure they're good. He smacks his lips and seems to be in heaven after every one one of his fries. We get up to the door and it's closed. Through the window, I see the place is gutted. Nothing is left! I was trying to remember the last time I'd been in there, it's only been a couple of months, but Crazy Con's Moka Burgers or 'The Lot' are now history. A guy who works at the Charles Hotel (pub) across the street walked by and he said G'day and I asked him what happened, but he didn't know. Con used to close up at 7:00 and at 7:01 was in there grabbing a pint and heading off to the pokies (electronic poker machines). Your Mom's comment was that everytime I'd take her to Moka's, it was closed and this time it was....for good!
But next door where the Italian place used to be is now a Thai place. I'd been there before and the food was very good. We walked in, it was about 12:30 and no one was in the place. No customers, no workers, nothing in spite of a sign out on the sidewalk saying Now Open for Lunch, with lunch specials listed. The only thing I was thinking is "yeah, a lunch special as in Smith and Wesson Police Special!" I was afraid to go towards the back wondering how many bodies I'd be counting before reaching the back door to vomit at the horror! I mean, have you ever seen the inside of an Asian restaurant? Don't! But after your Mom's persistent inquiries of Hello and Is Anyone here? (mine being, Is Anyone still alive?) a woman came out and asked if we had reservations. Just kidding, she sat us at the window so everyone walking past could see us getting red in the face at the delicious and very spicy food. It was good and I had to switch dishes with your Mom as mine was just a little less spicy than hers. She ordered some curry soup with noodles and I gotta tell you, the golden droplets really complimented the bacon grease on my shirt. At your Mom's suggestion, we did go home so I could pull another shirt out of the laundry to wear as brining 2 meals to work with me wouldn't cut it.
So now she's off to get a pedicure and walk around the mall and I'm in the office trying to stave off the after effects of a real Monday. I hope you Monday goes much better and unlike me, Murphy isn't your guide.
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