• Embed Doc
  • Copy Link
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
Excerpted from ‘How to be a Pencilneck’ by Owen Garratt
 © Owen Garratt 2009
www.pencilneck.com
Al lRi ghts Res erv ed
.
THE ENGLISH INVASION Part One
A diaper pail fire?Nope.A road kill skunk that’s been thrown in a vat of roofing tar?Nope.A hobo farting contest?Close, but nope.I was on a flight to England, and with my usual unerring skill and aplomb,I landed a seat next to a middle-aged Middle Eastern chap. Of course, there’snothing wrong with sitting next to middle-aged Middle Eastern chaps on flights,but this was when I was 18, and you could smoke on airplanes back then, and thismiddle-aged Middle Eastern chap was smoking something pretty ferocious. Thesemajestic blacklung specials were a villainous green and they made odd sizzlingand snapping sounds and they shot out so much smoke that it looked like he wassmoking a signal flare.From the exceptional aroma, I eventually deduced that they were aswashbuckling blend of gunpowder, asphalt, moth balls, old Safeway bags, poisonoak, hemlock, wolfsbane, and a little something good that must have come out of Chernobyl.The smoke didn’t seem to dissipate and it had its own sort of texture…youcould’ve stuffed a sofa with it. It was the smoke that ate like a meal.
 
Excerpted from ‘How to be a Pencilneck’ by Owen Garratt
 © Owen Garratt 2009
www.pencilneck.com
Al lRi ghts Res erv ed
.
And it had reach. From the aisle seat you could watch the stuff seethe androil along the ceiling and every so often, it would pounce on a victim who wouldsit up, sniff tentatively, and pause as if they were listening to something. In thenext instant they would launch into convulsions, their eyes would stream, andthey’d cough those way down crippling kind of coughs where your tongue sticksout. After scrabbling for a drink and having their backs whacked by passers-by,they’d invariably spin and glare, and I would be the one who ended up catchingthe evil looks.I looked at this middle-aged Middle Eastern chap with awe; his respiratorysystem must’ve been made of sheet iron.It made for an interesting flight, and by the time we’d hove to atHeathrow, my throat felt like I’d just ate a cactus.It was December 27
th
, and I was flying to England to meet my bestestbuddy and high school alumni Sean Choo-Foo and his family. Foo’s Mom is Irish,but her family immigrated to England, and the Choo-Foo’s made regular tripsback home.Back in November, my girlfriend had plans to fly to Toronto for theChristmas holidays, and I was on the phone with Foo.“What’re you guys doing for Christmas?” I asked.“We’re going to visit Uncle Anto, Auntie Di and Woody in England.” Hewas referring to his Mom’s brother, his Mom’s brother’s wife, and his Mom’sbrother’s wife’s mother, respectively. “What are you doing?” he asked.“I’m not doing anything cool like England, that’s for sure.” I said.There was a big pause.
 
Excerpted from ‘How to be a Pencilneck’ by Owen Garratt
 © Owen Garratt 2009
www.pencilneck.com
Al lRi ghts Res erv ed
.
“So…” Foo said, “You could maybe join us?”Another big pause…I happened to have the bread…why the hell not?“Why the hell not?” I cheered.Foo said he’d call right back, and after breaking the news to his parentsthat I was joining them, he called back and we made plans. I respectfully offeredto come on the 27
th
so that their Christmas Day would be just family…and Iwouldn’t have to buy any gifts.After landing, collecting my luggage, and croaking, rasping and wheezingmy way through customs,
(those middle-aged Middle Eastern ciggys stayed with you)
I preparedto portage back across England, to Chester. This was my third trip to Europe, butmy first to the United Kingdom, and I drank it up. At that time Regina only hadone luggage carousel for the whole airport, so a walk down a flight of steps onto asubway train right inside Heathrow was high excitement for a bumpkin like me.A couple of transfers and a few hours later, I got to meet Uncle Anto
(shortfor Anthony)
, Auntie Di, Woody and the rest of the tribe at the Chester train station.It’s been 20 years since that first visit with them, but they’re still some of myfavorite people in the whole wide world. Anthony is Foo’s middle name, and 15years later I would give the same middle name to my first Son, Jackson.New Year’s was rung in at a pub called The Black Plough, and while I’ma bit fogged on specifics, by all accounts it was a rousing success. The pictureslook like we were having fun anyway.A day or so later, we began Operation Scotland.Foo and I graduated high school in a small town on the southern Canadianprairies - Wawota, Saskatchewan, population 530. To be accurate, it was now 528,
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...