One of my fondest memories from childhood involved the Saturday morning ritual of watching cartoons and eating cereal with my sister. She and I got out the TV trays and ate Crunchberries, Fruity Pebbles, or something along those lines, on the floor and watched for a couple of hours. A favorite show happened to be the Superfriends, where all the super heroes worked together to make the world a better place.
Years later, I realized how much influence the show had had when I quipped, "Meanwhile, at the hall of justice," around some people, and just about everyone recognized the quote, and why I had used it in the particular situation. I know that my generation apparently has a tendency to use pop culture quotes in daily life, perhaps more than other generations, but sometimes, you just have to say, what the fuck! (first person who comes over here and tells me what film that comes from will gladly get taken for a schnitzel and a pils)
What took me a bit longer was to recognize that my sister had equally fond memories of those Saturday mornings, too. A particular team of the Superfriends was a duo called the Wonder Twins. Yes, I have referenced them in earlier stories, and might have even described Saturday morning cartoon watching once before. However, my sister and I, through the years, tend to use our secret identities (you see, we are the Wonder Twins, though she is a little older and I am a quite a bit bigger) as a way of helping each other through the rough spots.
I found myself in a bit of a rough spot this past Monday evening, after arriving in Glasgow. Workwise, everything seems to be going along just fine. On the personal front, though, I briefly lost the plot, and must have startled the other guests that were entering the hotel I was staying at as I wandered around the parking lot talking with my siter on the telephone. The details of the crisis aren't so relevant to this piece; I simply needed to reach out and get a bit of support to help me remember where I stand in my life and its rich pageant.
Without any regard to the roaming charges associated with using a German mobile to call a Spanish telephone number from a location in the UK (sometimes you have to say what the fuck), I phoned my sister, and was very glad she picked up.
We chatted (interpret that as some angstridden really tall little kid losing hair faster than you say, "Fruity Pebbles are really sugary," stomping around a parking lot with a beer in his hand and a handy in his other) for the next hour and a half, after which I felt a little better, though physically and emotionally drained.
The next morning at work, I glanced at my sisters slogan on her skype, and smiled when I read Wonder Twin Power!!! She had not done much more than listen and offer some encouragement the previous evening, but it had helped a lot, and this was her way of reminding me that things would be ok. Indeed she is right, even though I may need to remind myself regularly.
At any rate, I was able to concentrate better on work throughout the rest of the week, which was great. After a few weeks on the job, I am starting to feel like I am doing stuff each day, becoming more involved, making decisions, etc.
I met a couple of colleagues who are also working remotely in other parts of the world, and it was cool to compare notes and hear about their experiences in the African and Middle Eastern markets. During dinner one evening, they touched upon the fact that they had their work cut out for them, having to operate in tough markets, and somewhat limited chances to visit the office in Glasgow. Like myself, they are also a bit isolated, perhaps even more than me.
Midweek, I watched the Old Firm derby with some colleagues in the bar of a local restaurant, and recalled an old magazine article Pablo had given me some 20 years ago which discussed the rivalry, the hatred, the violence, and the, um, football. The match itself was almost insignificant, save for the fact that Rangers lost. Loads of reds and yellows, arrests, and commentary the following morning on how disgraceful the whole thing was to Scottish football. Thank goodness I didn't get beaten up, though.
I found myself watching an episode of Glee later on in the week (who said life on the road wasn't fun and eventful?), got involved in a a bit of banter involving the Old 97s (glad you enjoyed the show, Karen), ate a few more sandwiches at work (Ploughman's taste really good, especially with the sauce), but was really glad to head for the airport yesterday afternoon.
As I said a couple of weeks ago, it is only a matter of time before I flat out miss a connecting flight. Though we landed on time in Amsterdam, the line at passport control was longer than I had ever seen it. The problem was, EVERYONE was about to miss their flight, so it was not as if they could allow those of us with tight connections to butt in line.
The experience was absolutely surreal. More on that in a future post.
My gate was closing, and I sprinted through the lounge, shoes untied, belt in hand (I hadn't bothered to try and sort that after the security, as the time was too tight) up to the counter, quite a bit more huffy puffy than I care to admit. All I could say was, "Shit."
The girl at the gate sort of smiled when I said that, then pointed to the waiting bus outside; turns out I wouldn't miss the flight afterall. I thought that perhaps I would need to find a better connection in future, especially when the pilot announced midflight that the reason the plane was so empty is because some 20 other people had been held up at the same security log jam as me.
So once again, I am back at home, enjoying a sunny Saturday morning, alas, without cartoons. Yep, I am listening to Fight Songs, and realizing how similar my life is to Calvin and Hobbes (though I have a bear instead of a tiger). Imagination is a wonderful thing. It helps you appreciate reality.
And if it doesn't, well, you just might have to say, "what the fuck."
keep the faith
bryan
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