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My friend managed to get through an entire day of work last week with horrific food poisoning, without taking any time off. He hid the symptoms all day long—when people passed by his office, when he attended meetings, when he drove across town for a conference (at which, it turned out, he had to speak).

"Every time someone walked by my office, I was like, 'Hey!' and then as soon as they were gone, you know," he said, holding his arms around himself and closing his eyes. "Rocking a little."

I could not stop laughing at every detail. The sweating. The shaking. The strategic running up back stairwells to remote restrooms so bosses and new interns wouldn't see him—both so they couldn't stop him and introduce anyone, and so they wouldn't hear . . . anything. Or know how long he'd been in there.

My friend couldn't understand what was so funny. Being a decent and humble guy, he kept interrupting himself and trying to change the subject with, "Sorry, this is a really boring story," and "And that is way more than you wanted to know about that!" And I kept laughing and saying No, I want to hear more!, and before I could explain why, he would remember something else and go on.

Like how, at one point, before heading across town to a meeting, he stopped at his house, because he had ten minutes to spare. And then he barfed a little, and thought, "Okay. . . ." pant, pant. "Now I'm good." Then he had to sit down again and spend a couple minutes breathing. Then he was running late and had to go.

Because he was only stopping for ten minutes, he parked on the street instead of in the garage. When he got back into his car, he went, "YEAHHHHHH!" Both hands gripping the wheel, face screwed up, screaming. "YEAAAHHHHHHHH!!"—twice—before starting the engine.

I laughed the hardest at that. I totally grilled him about it.

"What do you mean?" I said. "You were just . . . psyching yourself up?? Do you psych yourself up like that in general?? Whenever you have something hard to do?" I thought of all the scenes I'd seen on TV with guys karate chopping themselves in mirrors.

"Yeah. Why?" My friend had no idea why this was interesting.

I kept asking why he didn't go home—or stay home—and my friend insisted that at every turn, he thought the worst had passed.* Until it was too late again.

(*I found out later from his wife that, in fact, the worst did not hit until he was driving home from his meeting, and she came home to find him shivering, feverish, moaning. She was completely frightened. She thought it might be swine flu. At which point I rebuked him roundly, because if there is any chance you could have flu of any type—especially right now—you have to go home!! It's the responsible thing to do!! But he insisted he knew the whole time what flu felt like, and even though he didn't know what was going on, it wasn't that. I find this sketchy and scandalous, but anyway, he didn't have flu, so we'll leave it at that.) 

The rest of the episodes from his day were equally entertaining. The stuff of nightmares. Opening a document with 20 minutes before a meeting, and realizing it's 140 pages. Getting to the conference, which your boss's colleague said the company only needed someone to show up at, and realizing you're one of the few attendees with a nameplate. Thinking frantically of what you're going to say, the whole time the long-winded panel is working its way around to you. Pulling off your spiel so that people are coming up afterward to shake your hand and say they appreciated your presentation, even while you're too disoriented to realize you parked your car in the wrong lot.

I kept pulling details out of him. It amazes me when people don't realize

OH MAN. I have to tell you. Lots of times I wonder what a lip reader would think if he or she saw me in my car. Others would see my lips moving, but maybe they would think I had a Bluetooth headset. But a lip reader would know: cheesy love songs.

Today I was sitting in a café, in my usual sunny window, and I’d had a great writing session all morning but now my brain was fried. And I looked right out the window—the same window I sit in every day--right into people’s cars.

Lots of people were singing! Driving by; stopped at the light; heads bobbing—no lip reading necessary. Singing and car dancing.

I am so happy.

I don't know if you guys saw my post about my French neighbor, a while back, but I ran into him today (it turns out only the guy is French; I've met them both now and they are splendid), and, hee hee. He was taking out his garbage and was all, "I'm embarrassed," gesturing at his sweatclothes. And I was like, "No, don't be silly. You're taking out your trash!" But secretly I was pleased.

His sweatpants were gray. His sweatshirt was a matching gray—

and it had horizontal red stripes!

Hee. Hee hee.

(He's French!)

CATS!! GRAZING IN THE FIELDS!!

Actually, sheep that look like cats. Driving down to Termas Geométricas from Pucón yesterday (more on that later) in a rented car, we passed countless mini-flocks of sheep. But, in the midst of them, we also saw cats. Gigantic. They were half the size of the sheep, with their heads bent down to the grass, grazing, too.

The vision cracked us up. No matter how many times we passed sheep, we kept seeing cats. Turns out, some sheep, when they're shorn, with their dark faces and dark feet and light, creme-colored bodies, look exactly like overgrown Siamese cats. Sleek and lithe and scrawny. When they run, their movements are completely catlike, too.

Damon was like, "I didn't know cats graze!"

There's been a lot of livestock on this trip. In addition to sheep, we've seen llamas, alpacas, vicuñas, mules, chickens, pigs, cows, horses, and--just yesterday--billy goats gruff! They wander right by us. (They're all owned by people but left to their own devices to find food. In the case of the horses all over Easter Island, most have never been broken.)

The whiteness and beards and triangular horns of the billy goats gruff, and the way they ran over these long tufts of grass growing over blackened, upended tree stumps, made them the most magical thing I've ever seen. Even the way they scratched their fleas was magical (albeit gross). They scratch just like dogs, with their long hind legs reaching behind their heads, but they do it standing.

I also laughed really hard on Easter Island when a chicken crossed the road. I've actually seen chickens cross roads before, but that never gets old.

Love,
r

Well, now I’ve seen everything.

MILLIONS OF KIDS AT STARBUCKS!!


Damon and I were driving down this little street today when an elementary school must have just let out. It was 1:48 pm, and the kids were really small. There was a Mexican ice/Popsicle cart parked on the corner outside the school, doing a thriving business, next to a crossing guard that looked on impassively. Knots of children clustered 'round, each with a mom or babysitter near its nucleus.

Up and down the street, other groups of kids-with-grownups could be spotted holding snowcones.

Damon and I remarked on all this. We wondered how much a snowcone goes for on the street these days, whether that guy was making a killing, and whether his business depends wholly on that 15-minute rush right after school let out, each day.

One block later, we saw a competing ice pop cart on the other side of the school, with a few more kids buying. No surprise.

Then we turned onto Wilshire and forgot the whole thing.

A few minutes later, we passed a billion other kids. Another school must have just let out. These kids were slightly bigger, wearing white polo shirts and khakis and dark backpacks, and moved in large, unorganized herds, no grownups in sight.

It was a hot day.

I looked up and down Wilshire. No ice pop relief in sight.

(Ever since Damon and I stopped using air conditioning in our car, I have begun to feel much more compassionate toward my fellow man on the street.)

“Do you think kids hang out at that El Pollo Loco after school?” Damon asked, also looking around. Then, “Oh my G—!”

We both it at the same time: the standalone Starbucks across the street from El Pollo Loco, swarming with kids. Trying to get in. Spilling onto the sidewalk. All in white shirts and backpacks.

I could hardly understand what I was seeing.

Damon asked was he last to know this happens. I was like, This definitely is not something I’ve stored in my mental filing cabinet of urban images before.

Up and down Wilshire you could now see: Children everywhere holding iced coffee cups! The clear plastic Starbucks ones! Not even bottled Frappucinos!

(I realize these cups could have been sodas, but they didn't look that way to me. They looked like iced coffee.)

I know Damon’s half-sister started liking Starbucks around age 12. My cousin Ramona loved getting iced coffee at the mall by the time she was 13. I myself started making coffee at home by age 14.

These kids looked smaller, but it’s been a few years since Kami was 11, and Ramona was 13, and I was 14.

The times catch up to you.


Note added much later:
Damon and I did a stakeout a few days later, so I could get a picture of this. We ate lunch at the El Pollo Loco right at the same time of day, and I had his camera.

The weather had gotten a lot colder, though, so it didn't happen. A few kids drifted in, but nothing special.

Buses wait at that same corner for all the kids, so I can see how, on a hot day, that Starbucks has the perfect location.

r