Traveling With My AV
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Join Date: Jun 2010
Location: Massachusetts
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Traveling With My AV
Traveling with My AV
Like my other luggage, my AV accompanies me when I travel. Unlike other beasts it travels in the cabin and not down in the baggage with the dogs and cats. When the liquid refreshment cart goes by with all that booze aboard I sense it giving a sniff and letting out a low howl, “Go for it!” it says. “One small bottle won’t make much of a difference! Will settle you down a bit to sit out the turbulence.” I don’t listen to it much since I’ve been sober for quite awhile but it still annoys me a bit when a fellow passenger sitting next to me enjoys her Bloody Mary, even if she’s beautiful to look at. I can smell the booze on her breath, which makes it even harder.
The real trouble is when we land and no one seems to speak English. My AV wants what it wants and it wants it right now.! I can feel it down there in my lower brain howling with rage when folks don’t cater to its needs immediately. Sometimes this can be pretty painful in other ways. I recall renting a car and driver after our flight landed in Naples so we could be driven down to Positano on the Amalfi coast. The driver couldn’t speak a word of English. Due to heart issues I have to take a diuretic daily and I foolishly I took one shortly before we landed. It takes about an hour and a half for the body to respond to a diuretic and by that time we were being driven, rather recklessly I thought, along narrow roads hanging from precipitous cliffs. Whenever I spotted a roadside cafe which might contain a lavatory I shouted to stop (“Subito”) but the driver, uncomprehending, pressed on. Searching further in my feeble Italian vocabulary, I came up with “Emergencia! Emergencia Urinale!” But he drove on relentlessly. Finally, we came within a mile or two of the hotel, visible in the distance. There was no nearby cafe with a lavatory. On a parking lot promenade tourists, many mothers and children, enjoyed the spacious view. “Magnifico!” our driver said. “Grande!”. My bowels screamed with anguish; the torment was unspeakable. Had I lost control, unzipped myself and performed an “emergencia urinale” in full view of the children (“Mommy! Mommy! What’s that man doing?”) I would surely have been arrested by the Policia Carboniere for public (or pubic!) exposure and taken in shame to some dismal Latin jail.
Where was my AV all this time? When I finally managed to reach our hotel and relieved my agonies in a respectable manner, I heard a small voice helpfully (?) suggesting “Such couragio! You deserve a small Whiskey Sour to calm your sufferings! One small one won't hurt!”
When traveling beware of your AV. It’s out to get you. That may sound paranoid, but remember: they always come for the paranoids first!
Like my other luggage, my AV accompanies me when I travel. Unlike other beasts it travels in the cabin and not down in the baggage with the dogs and cats. When the liquid refreshment cart goes by with all that booze aboard I sense it giving a sniff and letting out a low howl, “Go for it!” it says. “One small bottle won’t make much of a difference! Will settle you down a bit to sit out the turbulence.” I don’t listen to it much since I’ve been sober for quite awhile but it still annoys me a bit when a fellow passenger sitting next to me enjoys her Bloody Mary, even if she’s beautiful to look at. I can smell the booze on her breath, which makes it even harder.
The real trouble is when we land and no one seems to speak English. My AV wants what it wants and it wants it right now.! I can feel it down there in my lower brain howling with rage when folks don’t cater to its needs immediately. Sometimes this can be pretty painful in other ways. I recall renting a car and driver after our flight landed in Naples so we could be driven down to Positano on the Amalfi coast. The driver couldn’t speak a word of English. Due to heart issues I have to take a diuretic daily and I foolishly I took one shortly before we landed. It takes about an hour and a half for the body to respond to a diuretic and by that time we were being driven, rather recklessly I thought, along narrow roads hanging from precipitous cliffs. Whenever I spotted a roadside cafe which might contain a lavatory I shouted to stop (“Subito”) but the driver, uncomprehending, pressed on. Searching further in my feeble Italian vocabulary, I came up with “Emergencia! Emergencia Urinale!” But he drove on relentlessly. Finally, we came within a mile or two of the hotel, visible in the distance. There was no nearby cafe with a lavatory. On a parking lot promenade tourists, many mothers and children, enjoyed the spacious view. “Magnifico!” our driver said. “Grande!”. My bowels screamed with anguish; the torment was unspeakable. Had I lost control, unzipped myself and performed an “emergencia urinale” in full view of the children (“Mommy! Mommy! What’s that man doing?”) I would surely have been arrested by the Policia Carboniere for public (or pubic!) exposure and taken in shame to some dismal Latin jail.
Where was my AV all this time? When I finally managed to reach our hotel and relieved my agonies in a respectable manner, I heard a small voice helpfully (?) suggesting “Such couragio! You deserve a small Whiskey Sour to calm your sufferings! One small one won't hurt!”
When traveling beware of your AV. It’s out to get you. That may sound paranoid, but remember: they always come for the paranoids first!
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