This may or may not make for a good story, probably not, not because I’m negativist but because you should shut up when fishing not to disturb the fish. So I hear, but I wouldn’t know, I get my fish in the supermarket.
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table. —T. S. Eliot
So what’s the story here? I don’t know about the story in the above poem, except that the poet was crazy, as poets are prone to be, which is my professional opinion of a doctor of literature. I picked the poem as an epigraph because I really like the comparison of the sky to the operating table. So cute. And as sterile as the airport corridors in the below photo. I don’t know about the story of the photo either, but come on, there must be a plenty of stories in there! It’s an airport for fuck’s sake. There are always stories where there are people.
What I do know is my story at this airport. It was the first of the gazillion circles of hell, as not imagined even by Dante, who had no imagination, which was my recent business trip. Everything that could possibly go wrong duly did, and my boss, who is a pathological optimist and liar, kept on saying We’re on a pleasure trip, it’s an adventure! First, a business trip is not a pleasure trip. Second, you only call a fuckup an adventure when you’re talking to a child whom you’re saving from a disaster and whom you don’t want to frighten. And why, yes, I’m a pathological negativist.
You know how I always say that I’ve been up to nothing? Well, this week I’ve been up to so much shit! Still, I somehow miraculously contrived to make it look like I’ve been nowhere and done nothing. See for yourself.
I’m not a frequent traveller, less so a frequent flyer, so the night-lit landscape as seen from the plane on my recent enforced business trip was quite otherworldly to me. I mean, it is lovely, but I do hope to avoid travelling in the future, as it’s on the list of top things I hate the most.