Chapter 21

Harold checked in at the airline ticket counter and then walked along the row of counters toward the gate. He walked along the long glass window between the curb and the ticket area. It was raining quite hard and rain droplets were hitting the glass. Harold walked by the first set of automatic doors and the proximity sensor opened them. He was gone by the time they were fully open but the wind and rain blew into the lobby. He continued along the wall to the next door, quite oblivious to the opening of the doors, the torrential rain and wind that entered, and the soaked passengers, ticket takers, and sky caps that got the brunt of the wind. By the fourth door, the crowd of soaked tourists was watching this very strange man. At the last door an almost hurricane force wind blew in some shrubbery and leaves. Harold walked on oblivious to all.

Harold realized he needed something to read on the plane and stopped at a magazine stand. His plane was late as per usual. They now even scheduled the planes late so they could appear to be on time when they were in reality late. Usually they were later than they thought they would be, so they were still late. Harold had practiced his speech twenty times. He had emptied his bladder ten times and now he was staring blankly at the magazines hoping for inspiration. Playboy had the latest discoveries of Madonna's nude photos. The lady had enough undiscovered nude photos to get a couple in each month. What did she do as a youth? - pose every month and leave time capsules? They were always artsy fartsy, so why bother. Maybe these were left over rejects from her $50.00, aluminum clad, porno novel.

There were two homeless people sorting through the trash can looking for redeemable bottles and cans. Harold watched them for a while and then drifted off into a state of half sleep, half wakefulness. He was looking at the magazines but imagining a set of new improved magazines. Magazines for a different clientele. Better Homeless Living: a review of the shelters of New York and other metropolitan cities. There would be coupons for discounts on bus tickets and guides to all the free services in a city. They would have weather reports for outdoor living. There would be a review of the changing patterns of welfare support to assist moving around to maximize income. There could be questionnaires - are you truly schizophrenic or is it the economy? It would be printed on thick newspaper to double as a mat or a fuel supply on cold nights. How about Drug Seeker:? a journal dedicated to the pharmacology of the addicted set. It would contain articles on preparation, purification, new pharmacokinetic techniques, and then have specials on new FDA releases. There would be articles on how to fake medical diagnosis to get prescription drugs. There would be a scratch and take center fold. The travel section would have a description of ports of entry and luggage suppliers. They could have articles on proper coffee preparation - grinding, brewing, expresso. It would be a great hit - sorry, Oh wow man- what a magazine.

Why was he doing this? Why was he going all the way to Washington to make a fool of himself when he had such great ideas? This mess was George's fault. George had been the enthusiast. It would have died the way the last hundred of them had in the minds of two guys. But no, now he had to defend it in front of Congress.

"Flight 432 to Dulles is about to board at gate 16. If any of our passengers need special assistance in boarding, you may now board. This includes people with small children, farm animals, or anyone who may be truly clutzy and need a bit more time in boarding. We will announce the regular boarding by row number." A hundred people who had no obvious physical deformity, no children, and no reason to get on early rushed the gate. One paraplegic couple in wheel chairs with a baby in a stroller was at the end of the line.

What is the worst they could do to him? They could take away his grants. Pillar him in front of the public. Cause the press to hound him for the next few years. Get him on the cover of every magazine in the world as the despoiler of a planet. Cause him great mental anguish. He could develop some hideous illness - painful dandruff or worse athlete's rot. That's it. What could be worse? Well, they could sick the IRS on him, cause every crazy in the world to send him death threats, get some punk to steal his car radio, send him a COD letter bomb, have an Islamic fundamentalist kidnap him and be unclear of their demands for ten years while forcing him to read the Koran and eat falafel. Falafel, good for the colon, but look what it drives you to. They could put him on the cover of the National Enquirer as the Love Child of Cher and a Space Alien. They could give him Lyme disease and then force him to confess his coffee addiction after being admitted to the Betty Ford Clinic. Naw. They could just make him look foolish.

"We are now boarding seats 20 through 35." Another rush of people who really were in seats 5 through 19 rushed the gate.

Harold looked at his ticket and walked over to the gate. He had not pulled out his boarding pass, so after a few moments of fumbling through all the little slips while holding onto an attaché case, a valise, and a rain coat. Well not actually holding onto. He dropped them all in turn. Finally, he found the boarding pass and was then allowed to walk down the ramp to the plane. He took his seat next to a very large woman. It was quite an amazing experience. He was quite surprised. She filled her seat and then part of his. It was not an unpleasant experience. Much like sitting next to a soufflé, a large one that has not yet fallen. She was almost large enough that he feared there might be tidal action from the force of the moon on her body. The kind of woman who would buy a really ugly dog, one of those things with way to much skin, so that she would look good in comparison. But she was also a fascinating woman. She was dressed in a moo moo. You know, those Hawaiian dresses with lots of cloth and little form. It had a wood grain pattern on much of the dress like very fine paneling. In the center of the dress was the full scale photo, except for the head, of a very shapely woman. The dress was a sort of back drop. If she had been standing in front of a paneled wall she would appear quite thin. Harold was very impressed. The effect did not work when she was sitting next to you in a blue synthetic fiber economy airline seat, but it would be quite impressive in front of the right wall.

"Hi, I'm Harold MacAnish."

"Merla Mavis - please to meet you."

"I was admiring your dress. That is quite unusual." Harold smiled when he said it.

"Oh, thank you. It's my own original. I manufacture them for the big boned woman. In fact I am on my way to a trade show right now." She whipped out - she was quick for a lady of her size - a brief case and popped the latches to reveal a beautiful high gloss catalog of some of the largest women Harold had ever seen. They were all wearing similar dresses but they were situated on the correct backgrounds. Merla cut in.

"This is my catalog. I got the idea from those blue screen techniques you see at Universal Studios. I just loved the studios - Lucy, ET, King Kong. I thought - you can't carry a mat photographer with you all the time just because you have a glandular problem, but you could get a similar effect without all the fuss. I had tried all the usual tricks stripes, solids, belts, no belts, big shoulder pads. I even considered wearing really big shoes. You know like the clowns do. They do make you look smaller, but have you ever tried to walk in them? I know, it is more important to look good than to feel good. But finally I just said, let's just hide it. My first creation was this one with a brick pattern and a print of Sophia Loren's body. It was a hit. There were some problems if you didn't stand in just the right spot next to the brick wall but it was still pretty good. Then came the wood grain with Cheryl Tiggs. Then one of my favorites, but not a great seller - a bookcase background with Brooke Shields. She was an academic. I thought it would appeal to the college set. It looked too much like a Gingrich tie. Well, nothing is perfect." She pulled out a stalk of celery and a jar of peanut butter from the brief case, stuffed the catalog back in, and began to shove the stalk into the creamy butter, only to look at Harold as if to offer, then decide not to. "So, where are you off to?"

"I have some business in Washington." Harold was a lousy liar but she seemed for a second to take the story.

"You look familiar. You are somebody famous. I can tell these things. Sometimes I think I am almost psychic. You know I can actually find my keys without really looking. Occasionally I will have one of those deja view experiences. I will see a TV show and think - I have seen this before. It is usually in the summer months but not always. But you look familiar, real familiar. It's you! You were on Gerando. You are that science guy. The guy who showed up those environmental fools. You were great. Wow! Those people are a bunch of do nothing, stop progress, losers. You showed them. They want to rip out all the freeways, shut down the power plants, drink nothing but bottled water, and live in Mill Valley eating whole grain bread and driving Volvos to the local natural food store. You made them look like the fools they are. We have to progress. We can't just sit on our butts. What were you going to do? That's right, you were going to populate Venus. Wow, what an idea."

"Yeah, that's me." Harold said quite sheepishly.

"Hey everybody!" Merla stood up just as the last passenger sat down. She began to yell and wave her celery stalk. The stewardess was about to tell you for the umpty umpth dozen time, what to do when all the oxygen is suddenly sucked from your body in the seconds before the plane explodes in a fiery ball of death. Like it really matters if you have that little yellow face mask on when you slam into the ground at five hundred miles an hour. "Everybody!" She was big enough to get people's attention real fast. "Listen. This man, sitting next to me, is Harold MacAnish." She pointed at Harold with the celery. "You know the guy on Gerando that wants to populate Venus." The plane fell silent. Harold slunk into his seat. He had never been to a lynching before. The ceiling on the plane might be high enough, if they tied his feet to keep him from standing on the hand rails.

"He's the guy who made all those granola sucking, no progress environmentalists look stupid on Gerando." Maybe they wouldn't hang him, maybe they would just skin him on the way to Dulles and then let him escape as an example to others. Almost every one on the plane stood up. There were four guys in the back in blue jump suits and Berkenstock sandals who didn't move, but everyone else did. He was doomed.

The first man who came up to him, grabbed his hand and shook it like it needed CPR. "It is a pleasure to meet you Dr. MacAnish. This is a great day for America and the world. I am proud to be in your presence." Harold almost fainted. These people loved the idea.

"It is great to finally have someone doing something good for a change." It went on and on. It took the stewardess almost thirty minutes to remember to tell people to sit down. She was the last to shake his hand. The plane got off the ground almost an hour late but no one cared. Harold was a new man.

Chapter 22

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