blogitto ergo sum

July 13, 2009

#141 – You Say “Tomato”, I say “Oh. . . “

Filed under: Uncategorized — yael [ya-el] wagner @ 10:32
Tags: , , ,

I am not bothering with apologies about not writing for sooooo long.   I missed it too.TomatoJuiceglass

And no, guess I’m not finishing the final cut story.  Gallbladder is gone.  Maybe one day I’ll get around finishing the story.  Not today though.

Today it’s about tomato; tomato juice to be exact.

It all started very well.  Mobile 2.0 was over; the Finish Mobile association treated us to a fun dinner the previous night, and though I slept in after making it to the hotel sometime early that morning, I had a couple of hours before my flight to visit my favorite gallery in Barcelona; had time to take a shower thanks to the hotel flexibility, and was on board the first flight out of two on my way home for a week vacation.

Location: Lufthansa flight, bulkhead seat, 2 Russian guys to my left, the aisle to my right.  Minutes past takeoff I’m in flight mode: headset, MP3 player and a book.  When the Lufthansa sandwich shows up, I adjust.  I hate the “pretend to be a table”, so it stays stored in the armrest.  My solution, book in one hand, sandwich in the other MP Player on lap.

And then the drinks cart arrives.  Tired of hearing “sorry, we run out of lemon, I ask for my 2nd preferred choice; tomato juice.  Now, with a glass in my hand it’s a real balancing act.  Glass of tomato juice in one hand, book in the other, sandwich on my lap, next to the MP3 player.  I even manage to bite the sandwich ever so often.  All is well and the book is good, until it’s time to flip a page.  I totally forget that there’s a glass full of liquid in my hand, and I turn it to flip the page.  Basic physics tells us the liquids, when given the option, obey gravity.  So it should have come as no surprise that turning a page with a glass in hand allowed the tomato juice to exercise its very own gravity.  Most of it though, didn’t exercise it far.  It landed on my lap.

My seatmates maintain frozen silence.  Not even one giggle or laugh.

Picture this: a very wet red right leg and full hands.  The shock lasts few seconds.  Then, like a preprogrammed robot, damage control process kicks in.  With one dripping hand holding the remains of the tomato juice, I manage to put the book behind my back, MP3 player follows.  Headset is off my head and joins the group session behind my back.  Last to join the reunion is the sandwich.  By whatever miracle, my socks are still white and dry.  A short struggle later I have shoes on.  The way to the lavatory never seemed longer.

Once I close the door behind me, I have time to take another sip.  Yes, tomato juice is still with me.  Then I try to think.  This is the first flight out of two, it’s early afternoon, and it’ll be 5 AM the following morning before I hit the ground in Israel.  No way I can survive the tomato smell or the looks for that long.

Done drinking the tomato juice, it’s laundry time.  Yes, in the airplane lavatory, I took off my pants and started washing them.   

The sink, miniature as it is, became my wash basin.  Clean and wet, it’s drying time.  I wring the pants, one leg at the time.  Instead of ironing, I “shake” them as hard as I can.  That’s how I avoid ironing.  In the process I get my glasses all covered with water drops.  I try very hard not to think what the people outside think hearing the noises coming out of the bathroom.

It’s time to put pants on.  One leg completely wet, the other not so much.  Last I’ve checked the only wet competitions were for white T-shirts.  I hold my breath and pull one leg, and then the other.  It’s cold, but not too cold.  I can do it.

And now, with nose high up, and maintaining eye contact with the ceiling only, I walk back to my seat.  I sit down, and start to reassemble my flying kit.  Headphones are back on, MP3 plays, book, and sandwich.  Surprisingly, all I have to wipe is the armrest and I am happy to realize that the seat’s upholstery is not fabric but rather leather-like.

As I try to balance all items the Russian guy in the seat next to me offers “you can put things here” as he points to his table.  I politely decline, but a minute later accept.  Now we are talking.  The two guys are returning from a chemistry convention.  Apparently Russia is the WW #1 manufacturer of food preservative 211 or whatever JSR-like number it has.  Unlike the Mobile 2.0 crowd, the chemists didn’t taste too much of Barcelona.  They were reading their Barcelona travel guide on their way back home.

I guess that there are different level of geekiness and nerdiness.

By the time we landed in Frankfurt, the only person who could tell that my pants were wet was I.  No stains left to tell the story.


1 Comment »

  1. I LOVED this one. it reminded me of a flight years ago when the flight attendant (it was back when they were still stewardesses) spilled an entire cup of tomato juice right in the crotch of my (back then) fashionable cotton white jumpsuit (1 piece).

    Comment by Ellen Cohen — October 19, 2009 @ 00:25 | Reply

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