The Ultimate Sacrifice
It took a long time to get home from Brazil–duh, but also because first we flew from Rio to Sao Paulo, and that flight was delayed, and somewhere in there an hour-plus wait on the security line, and then we had a few hours in the airport before the flight to New York, and that was delayed by two more hours. I think we finally took off around 12:30 or 1 am. Anyway, we figured since we got to the airport so early, we’d be able to score the magical exit seats for the 9+ hour haul back home. Nope: couldn’t even get two seats together. Quel bitch, and moi who needs a theoretical hand to hold (or should I say, a real-life hand, theoretically hold-able?). We figured we’d ask some friendly Brazilian to swap seats with us, and scene.
But then came the miracle. Someone was in Pistol’s seat, and they bumped her to first class! I went wobbling up there to see what was going on. “You’re not going to sit next to me?” I asked piteously. She looked tormented for half a second. “If you really want me to.” I went back to tell the lady sitting next to me that she would be sitting in first. She didn’t speak English, and when I corralled the flight attendant to explain, she got up without a word of thanks.
Pistol settled in next to me. “Fabiana’s going to be sad,” she said. Fabiana? Her new friend in first class. Pistol sighed. “It’s so different up there, the way they treat you.” I felt guilty, but we took the Ambien and then I don’t remember much, except giggling like crazy, making little movies on Pistol’s camera, and slurringly asking the flight attendant “Is Marcelo F. the co-pilot on this flight?” No, he was not. And yes, we were very fucked up.
Pistol took this picture, which she says was my idea:
It seems to be a hand roll of my hair and emergency evacuation instructions.
Ambien doesn’t really help me sleep, and I woke up a lot, alarmed by the turbulence. But Pistol was sleeping next to me, and everybody was sleeping, and it was dark, and a co-pilot not named Marcelo was flying the plane. And now were are safely back home and will make our triumphant (sic) return to Youpers, maybe even tonight. Speaking of, remember the time Pistol left me behind there?
Me neither.
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