John Brazell

Baring It All and Eating Goober Peas



Posted: Tuesday, January 17, 2012

by John Brazell

My long time sweetie, SB, and I traveled over the holidays and I feel it’s my duty to tell you once more don’t do this. Here’s a handy guideline you can count on: Flying is not friendly for anyone old enough to remember Tom Mix, girdles, or the airline slogan, “Fly the Friendly skies.”

In fairness, we and our luggage arrived on time and in a similar condition -- worn around the edges, zippers halfway down and not exactly the same color and shape as the time of departure.

Since we’ve made this trip two-years running, we were somewhat better prepared. SB had absorbed one more year of pushing and shoving at the Red Apple sales and I had watched another old western rerun, “Head ‘em up, Cut ‘em out, Rawhide, ‘Yee Haw’.”

NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED IN THE BIG HOUSE OF CONVEYORS

Airport security is the only institution, aside from matrimony and the IRS, which presumes guilt until proven innocent. A difference is security can snap a nude photo of you if they wish. Try to get by with that one at home or in the IRS office.

The most daunting test of the airport endurance games remains the mile long, ”Conveyer Chase while undressing” which is a Reality Show not yet brought to the small screen.

I’d suggest a plan before hand and make it simple as was mine. To wit, “If something is gonna get dropped it will be my pants and not my laptop.” Be prepared should your plan go kaput. I had not counted on the extra-portly chap in front of me holding onto his belt loop with a finger of one hand and emptying his pockets with the other hand. I have seen blue moons in my day, but never one a foot away with potential to eclipse the sun.

So fixated was I on the spectacle that I forgot to remove my belt. I held up the line waiting for the full body X-ray peep show, waving the belt like Indiana Jones with a viper pulled from the Temple of Doom . Someone handed me a plastic cereal bowl into which I placed the worn strip of striated cowhide while the crowd moaned. Really now, is there an unseemly use for a belt other than keep your pants above the southern hemisphere?

Five members of the “Hood”, Z Stump and the Purple Pimps, zipped through security with no belt and pants drooping to their knees. Shouldn’t that get you at least a whack with an X-ray stick?

In protest I wore my belt around my chest as I walked to a bench to dress. “That’s standard attire for a geezer,” SB said. “Et tu Brute,” I mumbled.

EATING GOOBER PEAS

So I’ve drifted. My main point is that I almost starved to death on our first flight.

We arose early, ate lightly, and rushed to the airport to wait while we waited for the next wait as is prescribed in the modern travel manual. I didn’t feel the pains of hunger until I was on the plane. Aha, make altitude and I’ve got peanuts to eat.

As I regaled the young woman next to me with peanut facts –-“Goober Peas in the South, Goober is not a dirty word, yes, they’re vegetables, don’t grow on trees and Billy Carter put ‘em in his Beer” -- two Kevlar packets of nuts hit my welcome tray.

I looked for a hint on how to open the indestructible packets without dislodging my elbow or seatmate with my follow through. There was no defined entry point – no markings, arrows or partial tear. Absent anything sharp, I twisted, turned, lightly pulled and stared at the pack while my stomach growled, “I wish I had an Oscar Meyer Weiner.”

In frustration, I ripped open the packet. Twenty-five peanut halves went flying in every direction. The attendant sensing a potential state of emergency placed another pack on my tray. I used the only weapon allowed on the plane, my teeth, to tear it open.

I intend to address this matter with the airline Department of Peanuts.

“I speak for senior citizens everywhere, many without their own teeth. Please make a pair of blunt-end scissors and rubber mallet available upon request, of course, with supervision.”

: )

Peas, peas, peas, peas

Eating goober peas

Goodness, how delicious,

Eating goober peas

John L. Brazell is a native Texan and resides in the beautiful Hill Country near Austin, Texas. He's a retired corporate executive. John’s love for writing can be traced to high school typing class when he first typed, "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party." As the only boy in class he took the instruction literally and fell in love with a forty-pound Royal Typewriter and every girl in the class. 

He is a member of several writing groups and has been published in ezines, newsletters/newspapers, community and corporate publications. His unfinished version of the next "Great American Novel" is entitled, The Unfinished Great American Novel.

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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)
» left by Dianne Lehmann 106 days 18 hours ago.
136 fans.
Hi John.

You always make me laugh ... sorry. :)

I remember Tom Mix and girdles and all the rest so I guess I won't be flying anytime soon. I consider that a good thing.

Thanks for the fun.

Hugs,

Dianne
» left by John Brazell 106 days 4 hours ago.
27 fans.
Thanks Dianne,

Well, we'll just grin and bare it, eh? Glad you enjoyed and great hearing from you,

Best, John
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