airport dimsum
It was raining heavily in San Francisco when our flight came in. City lights twinkled in and out of low flying clouds and there was that disquieting presence of turbulence that made the plane feel less like a graceful bullet arcing through the sky and more like a drunk driver trying to stay in his own lane.
LittleSister and I saw the runway lights come flashing out of the greyness of rain, only to disappear behind a sharp whine of engines, a steep pitch in our seats and a pilot's voice over the intercom saying, "sorry, we'll have to try that approach again." The first time was unnerving, the second time was terrifying, and after the third aborted landing, I was half ready to call my parents and call off the Christmas visit. The pilot changed course and made an emergency landing in Oakland, to refuel before "giving it another try."
I pulled out the cellphone while we waited for the fuel truck to arrive, and called my parents, told them that we'd be a little late. Traffic, bad weather, you know, that sort of thing. We sat on the tarmac a bit longer before I called J., figuring what-the-hell, I'm in her neighborhood.
"Cris!"
"Hey, j."
"You fucking bastard!"
"What?!"
"What does it take for you to return a phone call? I called you three weeks ago, and only now you're calling me back? Let me guess, you're in town right?"
"uh-huh."
"Fucking typical. You call on Thanksgiving on the day that I'm supposed to go see my parents in New York. And now you call the night that I'm supposed to drive down to San Diego to meet up with cousins."
"So I guess meeting up is out of the question?"
"Well, I'm supposed to drive down, but as you can see outside it's the fucking apocalypse minus the hail-from-a-clear-sky part. No way am I driving in this weather."
"so ..."
"tomorrow? noon? lunch?"
"cool with me."
"ok, see you then."
"bye, J."
"bastard."
love you too, j.
We were supposed to arrive in San Francisco at 10.30 pm. It was 1 am when the plane finally pulled up to the gate, discharging us into an ghost town of an airport, populated by night shift janitors and stranded passengers pillowing on backpacks. YoungerBrother and OlderSister met Little Sister and I at the baggage claim. They'd been here since OlderSister's flight came in at 9.30.
"hey."
"hey."
"hey."
"hey."
"let's go get the bags," I said, "fuckin' wanna go home."
YoungerBrother produced a luggage cart as we shuffled over to the baggage claim, and rolling it beside me he leaned over and said, "you know, I always feel like I'm at a dim sum restaurant when I'm pushing this thing."
"and you," I replied, "are like one of those 60 year old Chinese waitresses that barely speaks english?"
"yeah, yelling 'Steam Pork Bun!'"
"you want 'Chicken Feet'?"
"'har-gow', 'shu-mai', 'sticky rice!'"
"you're weird, man."
he shrugged. Once again, it's nice to be home.
LittleSister and I saw the runway lights come flashing out of the greyness of rain, only to disappear behind a sharp whine of engines, a steep pitch in our seats and a pilot's voice over the intercom saying, "sorry, we'll have to try that approach again." The first time was unnerving, the second time was terrifying, and after the third aborted landing, I was half ready to call my parents and call off the Christmas visit. The pilot changed course and made an emergency landing in Oakland, to refuel before "giving it another try."
I pulled out the cellphone while we waited for the fuel truck to arrive, and called my parents, told them that we'd be a little late. Traffic, bad weather, you know, that sort of thing. We sat on the tarmac a bit longer before I called J., figuring what-the-hell, I'm in her neighborhood.
"Cris!"
"Hey, j."
"You fucking bastard!"
"What?!"
"What does it take for you to return a phone call? I called you three weeks ago, and only now you're calling me back? Let me guess, you're in town right?"
"uh-huh."
"Fucking typical. You call on Thanksgiving on the day that I'm supposed to go see my parents in New York. And now you call the night that I'm supposed to drive down to San Diego to meet up with cousins."
"So I guess meeting up is out of the question?"
"Well, I'm supposed to drive down, but as you can see outside it's the fucking apocalypse minus the hail-from-a-clear-sky part. No way am I driving in this weather."
"so ..."
"tomorrow? noon? lunch?"
"cool with me."
"ok, see you then."
"bye, J."
"bastard."
love you too, j.
We were supposed to arrive in San Francisco at 10.30 pm. It was 1 am when the plane finally pulled up to the gate, discharging us into an ghost town of an airport, populated by night shift janitors and stranded passengers pillowing on backpacks. YoungerBrother and OlderSister met Little Sister and I at the baggage claim. They'd been here since OlderSister's flight came in at 9.30.
"hey."
"hey."
"hey."
"hey."
"let's go get the bags," I said, "fuckin' wanna go home."
YoungerBrother produced a luggage cart as we shuffled over to the baggage claim, and rolling it beside me he leaned over and said, "you know, I always feel like I'm at a dim sum restaurant when I'm pushing this thing."
"and you," I replied, "are like one of those 60 year old Chinese waitresses that barely speaks english?"
"yeah, yelling 'Steam Pork Bun!'"
"you want 'Chicken Feet'?"
"'har-gow', 'shu-mai', 'sticky rice!'"
"you're weird, man."
he shrugged. Once again, it's nice to be home.