Various topics
Welcome back to America. This column is kind of going to be all over the place. I assume because of jet lag, Husband #1 has been waking up two hours earlier than usual, and he decides to ask me how I am and wakes me up too. No, this is not thoughtful, this is annoying. I am fine, thank God. I was sleeping. Please don’t talk to me this early.
In any event, let’s discuss the flight home from Israel. I have been on many flights home from Israel. I am not saying that to brag, I am saying that as a point of reference. Of all the flights I have been on, this last one was the longest. Well, it felt like the longest. I am still convinced that it was actually 20 hours long, not the 11 hours they said it was.
Why? I know you didn’t ask, but I will tell you anyway. Sitting next to me was a 2 1/2-year-old boy and his very sweet parents from Lakewood. He screamed the whole flight. Screamed. At the top of his lungs. The only time he did not scream was when his father picked him up and walked to the back of the plane. He still could have been screaming, but that was the only time I didn’t hear it.
Don’t get me wrong, he was an adorable little boy, and I did get him to stop screaming here and there by making funny faces at him (no, not just my regular funny-looking face).
His mom informed me that he is the youngest of four brothers — the other three were sitting in the row in front of them, glued to their screens — and he was born at 25 weeks. Because he was so premature, they have been coddling him his whole life, letting him get away with anything and everything. She admitted this.
Good times.
And then there was the man sitting in between Husband #1 and me. He was very large. So large, in fact, that before he sat down, he undid his belt and his zipper so his stomach had a place to go. He then spread his legs and arms out and made horrible noises for most of the flight.
Did he think we couldn’t hear these noises? Did he think we couldn’t see that he undid his pants?
Husband #1 switched seats with him a few hours in, so it wasn’t as bad for me. But when the flight landed, the guy didn’t get up from his seat, so someone else had to take out our carry-ons and hand them to us. If I wasn’t so tired, I would have smacked the guy in the head with my bag.
Totally unrelated, I wanted to also discuss garbage disposal in Israel. Whether you live in a penthouse with American appliances, or a 200-square-foot apartment, you need to take your garbage bags down the stairs (or in the elevator) and then walk half a mile to dispose of your trash.
The garbage receptacles are kind of cool because you step on a large pedal and the contraption opens up so you can just throw your bag into the abyss. You don’t have to touch anything (well, except for your garbage bag).
But, because people are people, most garbage bags don’t make it into the large receptacle. Are the people lazy? Are they ill? I don’t judge, I just throw it in and go on my merry way, still wondering why there isn’t an easier way to throw out your trash. Though, the cats in the neighborhood seem to enjoy it when folks just leave their bags on the ground. All-you-can-eat buffet….
You know when your garbage bag is leaking and you leave a trail to the cans, but since the trail is in your house, you quickly clean it up? Well, that didn’t seem to be the case where I was. If you don’t watch where you are walking, you can end up stepping in someone else’s leftover chicken grease or chicken soup or chicken bones (I didn’t mean to pick on the chicken specifically. Please forgive me, poultry companies.)
You can only be responsible for yourself.
And that is all I’ve got this week.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck would like to wish herself a healthy and happy birthday. She is hoping to spend her birthday with Strudel and her family because she hasn’t seen them since Rosh Hashanah.
comments