WyzWmn's World©

the sound: Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear the Reaper, Chicago – If You Leave Me Now, Bruce Springsteen – Thunder Road, Carly Simon – You’re So Vain, Kansas – Carry On Wayward Son, James Brown – Sex Machine, David Bowie – Changes, Bob Dylan – Lay Lady Lay, Donna Summer – Love to Love You, Elton John – Rocket Man, Procul Harum – Conquistidor, Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – Blinded by the light, Rolling Stones – Wild Horses’

Boomer finally comes on the phone and he’s exuberant and happy. He sounds like he’s never been better and I think to myself “well, things are looking up”.

“Hey Big Boom Boom I’m here,” I says in my best tough girl voice.

Boomer hollers “hey Baby, great! Cool! Me and a coupla the guys are gonna come getcha…we’ll be there in a jiff!”

I hang up the phone wondering just how long a jiff is and head for the front doors of the airport. I am waiting for men are Harley’s so I am a little surprised when 15 minutes later a baby blue mustang convertible pulls up in front of me.

In the passenger seat is Boomer. In the driver’s seat is Boomer’s riding buddy BarnYard. (I’ve met him once er twice in the past) In the back of the car where the back seat should have been sits the largest, furriest, meanest looking human being I have ever seen.

We’re talking 6 ft 6 and 526 lbs…give er take a ton er two….Waist long brown hair and a beard that rolls down his chest to his belly like carpet. His hair is braided in spots as is his beard and hanging in those braids are bits of metal and feathers, what looks to be a cat skull and god knows what else.

“Robert certainly is large”, I gulp.

I take one long look and before they notice me I sprint back into the airport and make a beeline for the ladies room. I get there only to find pay toilets and me with no money. So I get down on the floor and scoot under the locked door, climb up on the seat and scrunch my feet up under me so that no one knows this stall is occupied.

“You weren’t kidding when you thought this was a stupid idea…this may have been the biggest idiocy of you life bar none” I think to myself.

The sound: SuperTramp – Dreamer, The Sweet – Ballroom Blitz, Karl Douglas – Kung Fu Fighting, Seals and Crofts – Summer Breeze, Lou Reed – Sweet Jane, Marvin Gaye – What’s Going On, Bad Company – Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Chaka Khan and Rufus – Something Good, Chicago – 25 or 6 to 4, Rare Earth – I Just Want To Celebrate, Tom Jones – I Who Have Nothing, Cliff Richard – Girl You’ll Be A Woman Soon

As we are de-boarding the plane and I am listening to the announcements for those of us that need to go through US Customs, I reach in my purse to snag my ID.

It is then that I realize that although I have my bucket and my toothbrush and even my freakin ID, I have no money. Nor is the little plastic case that holds all my credit cards there.

“Fuck me” I think, “let me rephrase that…if this ain’t the stupidest thing you’ve ever done Baby girl it is damn close to it.”

So I bullshit my way through Customs and once out in the baggage claim area I sit down on the floor and dump my purse into my helmet to see what I actually have.

Besides a headache, I mean.

ID – check

Toothbrush – check

Eyeshadow – check

Mascara – check

Cigarettes – check

Mike’s Zippo – check

Lipstick – check

Nail clippers – check

Hair Brush – check

Hair Ties – check

Rolaids – check

Socks – check

Cheque book – nope

Change purse – nope

Credit cards – nope

“Aaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhh! Now what the hell???” I snivel to myself.

Then I discover, folded in the lining of my purse, one slim Canadian dime and 3 shiny new Canadian pennies. Pay dirt!

So I load everything back into the purse and head for a payphone to call Boomer. I put my dime in and the US payphone spits it back out. And thinking that there is something the matter with the phone I drop the dime in again only to have it spit back out by the phone.

Then it occurs to me…”Canadian dime, American phone…sheeeeeeeit! Now what the hell?”

A lady walks by and I ask her if she will exchange a Canadian dime for an American one and she says, “how much you got?” When I show her my thirteen cents she snakes it all and drops a US dime in my palm. Cheap bitch!

I call the number that Allan gave me and a big deep accented voice answers, “House o Whore’s Bal’James at your service” he says with a drawl that’d cut butter.

I take a deep breath”, “H-hello” I squeak, “I’m looking for Boomer”

“Heyull is ya’ll da Canadjian gurrul Boomer’s bin a’waitin fowr?” “Hey Boomer! deys a gurrrul on da phone fer ya!”

By the time Boomer gets to the phone Bald James has asked me a multitude of questions I don’t want to answer and lots I can’t even understand cos of that deep south accent. And once again I am thinking maybe I’ll be ok cos I’ll just get Boomer to buy me a ticket home and I’ll wire him the money when I get there.