August 24, 2004
Poor John
As John mentioned, I met him at O'Hare last week. I'm now a professional at getting to the bar at the international terminal (although I'm not sure what that says about me…).
But it wasn't always that way.
I have many fears - canoes, flying, talking to strangers on the phone. But in providing John with company during his 4-hour wait, I had to face, not one, not two, but FOUR phobias!!!
[Granted, some are more likely than others to make me rock back and forth in a fetal position in a corner, hence the rating system. One is Makes Me Uncomfortable. Ten is I Need Drugs To Cope. Flying is a 10.]
Driving on the expressway - Level 1 Fear
Driving by myself to somewhere I hadn't driven to before - Level 7 Fear
Entering the airport (that's where the airplanes live!) - Level 2 Fear
Dealing with crowds - Level 5 Fear
And not only did I expertly accomplish my mission, but I got there without getting lost and, by the last leg, with a jaunty step! Yeah, yeah, no big whup for a normal person, but I'm a big weirdo. Learn that now, and we'll all have much more realistic expectations of me.
So there we were, gaming in full view of representatives from every flavor of the human race. Happily, there were only a few pitchfork- and torch-bearing villagers trying to dispel us satanists, and they were easily extinguished with my Sprite.
Okay, here's John and I playing Pirates of the Spanish Main:
“Now, this here is how far you can move each turn - two short. Three because you have the Helmsman.”
“Oooh, my Helmsman is a Pirate! Neato!”
“Uh-huh. And this number here is how much cargo you can hold, including crew.”
“I have the biggest ship! It took three cards to make!”
“Yes, that's nice. And these dice on your masts tell you how powerful your guns are.”
“They're so cute! Lookit the little flags!”
“Okay, I'm gonna go get another beer.”
Poor guy. I kicked his ass.
(Tune in tomorrow for: Omaha is fun! Who'd've thunk it?)