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In the 1970s I was a sales manager for a wretched little company on Long Island, the job entailed flying all over the country. I was never at home. I would leave on Monday morning and my wife would pick me up early Friday evening out of National airport. I belonged to every one of those frequent flyer clubs, drinking a lot of booze and sometimes I didn't even know where the hell I was.
Anyway one day I'm coming back from someplace, the plane landed, I disembarked, and, what the hell's going on here? I was in a coma like, I've never seen this terminal. I was flying National Airlines, or Northwest and the plane disembarked into a brand-new wing of National Airport and it was really sparkly, and all red walls. Not like National Airport at all. I said oh my God I've done it again, I got off the wrong exit. My mind was very foggy then I looked down on a bench along the walkway there was a Washington Post front page with something to do about Watergate. YES! I was in Washington because believe me, there was no where else in the country, I mean not even New York, where Watergate was story. |
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