Rocket Science

      It's hardly brain surgery. Give the suitcase to the woman behind the counter. Make sure before you leave your home, the suitcase weighs under fifty pounds. Take a carry-on, a personal item, your ID, and a ticket. It's not brain surgery, unless you're in our house. You got everything, right? Right. Then, let's head off to the . . .you forgot something. Did we close the garage door? Was the oven left on? Did we let the cat out or put it in the kennel? Did we leave anything that would spoil in the fridge, out on the counter, or anywhere else like the bathroom? Why the hell would there be food in the bathroom? Did you turn off the lights? Is the alarm on? Is the other car off? Did we pay the guy to mow the grass? Did we bring all the fucking plants to the plant sitter? Did we flush the toilet? Did you flush the toilet? Are the gates all closed? Are the stove and oven off? Did we turn off the cable for the TV? Did we call up the goddamn cops to let them know we'll be gone for one goddamn week? The fish are at the kennel? You put the blinds down, right? The computers, printers, and TVs are off? Is the water and gas off? It's a fucking week. What the hell do ya thinks going to happen in a fucking week? You checked the washer and dryer? The fireplace is off? The guy who takes the plow and plows our driveway? Yea, I paid him, too. Everything's fucking been done? Did we close the garage door? Lock all the doors? Did you take the trash out? What's the weather going to be here when we're gone? Why? The whole fucking reason we're going on this vacation is to get to warmer climates. You packed toiletries? No, because in our vacation resort, they have stores where they fucking sell toiletries. We don't need them. But, what if they don't have the kind of toiletetries I like? Then we'll fucking rough it for one week. I think they'll have toilet paper in the resort. Just a guess. I don't know if it'll be one ply or two. We'll go to the grocery store and buy you whatever kind of toilet paper you want. Now, let's get out of here. 

*

           Finally, we're leaving. Yes, dear, the garage is closed. See, closed. The alarm's on. It's all good. We're good. We're leaving and we have a fucking flight to catch. We're leaving. My God, does every husband have to go through this? Man. We are just about to leave the fucking coldesac when she starts again. What about my curlers? They sell curlers. I'll buy you curlers. We're not going back. I turn on the radio: WMMS. Crazy station.  “Grace porsende WMMS or en tunde no poste matza.” Strange. It's usually in English. Then, the crazy shit on the radio continues. “Doe, the thing that buys me beer, Ray, the guy who sells me beer, Me, the guy who drinks the beer.” That's it. What? We forgot the beer. It's a tourist attraction. Trust me, they'll have beer. Maybe we should stop on the way to the airport . . . No, we shouldn't. Whatever you forgot, we'll get it when we get there. The next five minutes are silence. Ahh. Silence. Then, she leans back and starts snoring. Maybe she's all anxious because she's tired. 

*

           We get there and there's plenty of time. Thank God. Go through the metal detector. Take off your shoes, belt, coat, empty your pockets, put all electronics in a bin. The person in front of us is having trouble understanding the instructions of the TSA officer. Take off your shoes. This isn't rocket science. Take off your shoes. But they stand there, not taking off their shoes. Then, the TSA officer asks, “Sir?” but the gentleman stands there, not saying anything or moving. Idiot. Then, the TSA calls a code over his walkie talkie. People with a stretcher come and take him away. Now, that's rocket science. We go through TSA. No, you don't. Leave your bra on. The metal detector doesn't detect underwires. Damn it. Ok, ask the fucking TSA officer. See, I told you. You aren't good at listening are you? You're great at talking, but not listening. Damn it. 

           We finally get to the goddamn terminal. Son-a-bitch, now what? I don't know where an electrical outlet is? How would I know that? What? You don't think they have outlets where we're going? They do. You want to charge your phone now? Why? This is a vacation. Why do you need to use your cell phone? Games? Really?  Games. Oy. 

           We get on the plane, finally. Oy. Then, there are the announcements. After you place your items in the overhead compartment, please clear the isle. This after hearing the same goddamn announcements over and over in the airport. If you see human trafficking, please call 911. Do not accept any items or gifts from any strangers. Please report all suspicious activity to a local TSA agent. Then, back on the plane, when I find a great movie I'm looking forward to, the usual. Let's show the same fucking announcement we show on every flight about what to do if we lose cabin pressure or in the unlikely event of a water landing. We're not going over water. Why the fuck would there ever be a water landing? Whatever. And my wife's glued to the screen, nodding her head. Idiot. This isn't brain surgery. You've heard this a billion times, why would this time be any different? Idiots. Please let a flight attendant know if you have any questions. Right, like why don't they give us parachutes instead of floatation devices? Morons. This isn't brain surgery. 

           The flight takes off, as usual, everyone but me takes out their chewing gum. I've been flying so long, I don't need it anymore. Damn it. While I'm enjoying the movie, the stewardess comes around and gets our order. I order coffee, sweetener, and creamer. As usual. And a snack, as usual. She's talking to the guy beside her. Why is she always talking to the guy beside her? Oh, well. It's platonic. It's always platonic. 

           It is now safe to take off your seat belt, but we kindly ask that you keep your seatbelt fastened while seated. Also, please don't form a line in front of the facilities, but wait for a bathroom to be vacant. No? Really? It's not brain surgery. Tampering with, disabling, or destroying the smoke detector in any way is strictly prohibited. No shit, Shirlock. Really? 

           Soon, we land and the usual announcement. Please do not leave your seat until the fasten safety belt light is turned off. Why? What do they think we'll do? I don't know. We get off the plane, go to baggage claim, get our bags, and go to the rental place. That's right. I want a Ford Fusion. I made a reservation. Yes, I understand that. Look, it's right here on my phone. Damn it. We get the car, finally, and we're off for a relaxing vacation.