My friend Justin had a flatmate whose accent made the old saying come out like the line above when she was inebriated.
I just remembered something Natalie Goldberg says in her books on writing: “For every cosmic statement you make, you have to provide ten specific details.” So as I witness Prague, I must remember to steer clear of the vagueries and shortcuts and paint the picture.
So, as I wrote the last post I was drinking a bitter black cafe Americano and eating a slice of lemon cake with gooey, tart icing on top.
The ceiling of this airport is a cross between a football stadium roof and a repeating bank logo in the sky that lets just enough sun through. This looks like the sort of hangar you’d hang out in while waiting to be deployed to Landmineistan.
The woman at the cheapie airline gate told me my flight wasn’t open, so I should come back at noon. I just did that, and another young woman with a dusty pink-orange face and half-awake London drawl told me my flight wasn’t open yet, so I should come back at one. I mumbled something about what the last woman said, but I felt like the character in Office Space muttering about someone taking his red Swingline stapler with no one listening. I also felt the lava of angry customer indignation rising, but in the same moment saw that I didn’t have to fall into the default reaction, since a) I’m on holiday and not actually in a rush (it makes no difference if I wait on this side of the bag, belt, shoes, coat, frisky massage line or the other) and b) it wouldn’t do a damned bit of good anyway. So I decided not to be bothered.
