Satan has trip anxiety. This is totally not unusual. Many, MANY people get a little wound up when taking a trip that requires them to step outside their normal daily comfort zones. What really, REALLY bugs me about Satan is not the he HAS Trip Anxiety, mind you, but that he refuses to ADMIT he has trip anxiety.
The other morning, in our Kankakee hotel, I awoke to a frantic Satan pacing around the room, gathering up stuff for his suitcase. I did not move, however, or give any indication of consciousness, since the Trip Anxiety was so thick in the air you could have cut it with a butter knife.
Eventually, though, Satan turned his attention to me, the inert lump in the bed.
SATAN
GET UP! Get up NOW! It’s late!
ME
(not responding)
SATAN
(Turns the 100 watt reading light on in my face.)
ME
(from under the covers)
Oh no you didn’t.
SATAN
We HAVE TO GO.
ME
Hmmm…
(This goes on for a while) (Finally…)
ME
(I get up. Begin stumbling toward the shower.)
SATAN
(Stopping me on the way.)
Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.
ME
(Turning back toward the bed.)
SATAN
(Grabs me by the arm..)
Okay, now listen. You remember where the car is parked, right?
ME
(Though standing, I manage to doze off again.)
SATAN
(Gives me a little shake.)
Are you LISTENING? Okay, the car is down the hall and to the right outside the door, okay?
ME
(shrugs)
So?
SATAN
Yes, it is. That’s where the car is, okay? Now. I’m going take my stuff out to the car and load it up. Immediately across a grassy median from the hotel parking lot is a Cracker Barrel. I’m going to walk over there and order us breakfast. You then, when you’re ready, will pack your stuff, carry it down the hall, and load it into the car, and then drive the car over to the Cracker Barrel. Meanwhile, I’ll already have us a table and have breakfast waiting. So! What do you want for breakfast?
ME
(Blinking rapidly.)
Breakfast?
SATAN
Yes, damnit, BREAKFAST! Have you not heard a word I said?!
ME
Umm…what time is it anyway?
SATAN
(On the verge of exploding from Trip Anxiety Anxiety Overload. A wisp of steam escapes from his left ear.)
ME
Uhh…right. Okay, how about a diet coke?
SATAN
That’s it. That’s all you want? Diet Coke. Do you have your car keys? Do you know where the car is?
ME
For the LOVE OF GOD JUST ORDER ME SOME F---ING BREAKFAST, OKAY?
At this point, I escape to the shower. When I’m finished I emerge from the bathroom to the sound of my ringing cell phone.
I ignore it as I apply my make-up and get dressed. It rings at regular intervals. Eventually, I hear the two-beep sound that signals a voice mail.
When I’m completely ready, I listen to the message:
SATAN
(Speaking very slowly and distinctly as if I am a semi-conscious mental patient.)
I’m AT THE CRACKER BARREL. I’m AT THE BACK TABLE. When you come in the FRONT DOOR, look to your LEFT. TO YOUR LEFT.
(click)
ME
(I choke out a sound that is somewhere between a giggle and a sob.)
Eventually, I make it to the Cracker Barrel and find Satan AT THE BACK TABLE TO MY LEFT. I sit down across from him.
SATAN
Did you put your luggage in the car?
ME
No, it’s actually currently up my ass.
SATAN
Very funny.
ME
You know, a lot of people have Trip Anxiety.
SATAN
What are you talking about? TRIP anxiety?
ME
(I sigh and look away, but can still see him from the corner of my eye signaling to the waitress to bring our food, so the whole thing will seem like a perfectly timed and brilliantly executed plan.)
SATAN
(Digs into his breakfast looking extremely proud of himself.)
ME
You know, we could just leave the hotel together like normal people. Having a plan only gives you the illusion of control over the situation, not any real control.
SATAN
Good GOD, could you be any more full of sh--?
Eventually, we finish breakfast.
SATAN
Are you finished? Do you need to go to the bathroom? Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…
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2 comments:
This one made me fall off the chair laughing - I think I have trip anxiety - OMG - kk
Maybe you and the S-man should form a support group.
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