Is there a Doctor on the Plane?

Considering the number of flights I have been on in my time, you think I would have heard this more often. However, I have not ever in fact had my flight, or my movie watching, interrupted by the request for a doctor on the flight.

Leaving Seoul again, the mad cap rush packing which I put off to the last minute. An empty suitcase on my bed being stuffed with clothes and gear. The likelyhood of which will be more used ends up coming up gear more often then clothes, as I know me, and I hardly ever wear any of the clothing I pack. Yet it seems silly to bring nothing else with me in the suitcase.

Trains, trains, trains, walking, saying goodbye. This trip feels like it has had to many goodbyes and I don't know how to rectify all of them. Everything keeps changing. Korea changes.

The weather was exceptionally warm before I left, tedious after the 10 months of winter we had. I wanted the warm, but I wanted time to enjoy the warm, to bask in it, to glow. Instead I had sweat over packing, and then running down the street to get to the train, sweat in my clothes, smelling like sweat when I get to the airport. The sudden realization that I have no time to eat. 13 hour flights, layovers, all sorts of running.

Over the breakfast table the Author is sitting with me, a last goodbye, a final goodbye, or at least the final in person for a while with me on the other side of the planet.

"Should I get the upgrade for a 100 odd dollars?"

I did pretty well with the flight and in the end I did it anyway. I quoted the cost to the author.

"That comes out to about 13 dollars an hour for comfort," he says. Which requires a high five.

He walks me to the train, more goodbyes, I don't cry this time, not like the crying over the Irish this morning.

"I just feel superfluous," I say to him.

"You are always like this just before you fly."

"I am not,"  I cry into his shirt as he tries desperately to flee away to work.

I am always like this right before I fly, especially when the air is laced with so much uncertainty and my brain is fixated and filled with lassitude.

"I am not."

"I'm going to miss you. Now shut up and give me a hug and let me get my train."

I'd settled in for a few movies. Having been up since 3 a.m. it was tempting to sleep but I knew at best it would be napping, and napping would not do it on a 13 hour flight. The couple sitting next to me were older, seasoned travelers. We talked for a bit. They asked me about my job. I told them I was a writer. They told me they were visiting children in Korea. I gave them my carbs and they returned the favor with peanuts I could eat.

The flight was overflowing with movies to watch and I chose comedies throughout. I needed giggles, it was during one of these forgetful films that the request for a doctor went off, which included the seat number which happened to be just behind my seat. None of the comedies was Airplane. Neck craning ensued, and there was certainly drama, but it was almost impossible to tell what was going on. The more seasoned travelers next to me sent an envoy to spy and scope out the situation. I suppose, had I really wanted to know, I could have asked.

After six hours of sleep I woke up in time for one more film before my layover. Transferring in America and not in Chicago is always strange, full of accents and outfits and all manner of Americana that feels just south of home. The pop culture sports fetish bar scene is strange. Travelers who discuss their various exploits over time, the odd person overlooking me in a bar. I wonder what I look like to them, with all my years of Asia riding me. I realize I haven't slept in ten days. Maybe it is the stress of travel.

I order another glass of wine during the layover, I write my blog.

As far as I can tell there was no doctor on the plane.

Someone Needs a Spanking

I decided about a month ago that my life had become all work and no play. I do realize, that anyone who reads this thing on a regular will be quite tempted to call bullshit, but the reality is that my shenanigans were taking up less and less of my time, most especially in March. To combat this, I decided to take Quatermain up on his invitation to check out the local quiz night. I went the first time by my lonesome, on a night when I drank, I blogged, I lost my computer, I cried, and I went to sleep. In all, it was a good time. 

The next time I called up the Irish and had him meet me there. Originally we only intended to have dinner, but then when told that the quiz included a number of comic book questions, we decided we would play. Considering that it was a team of two, we did not do that badly, coming in tied for fourth. As a team of two we chose the rather amusing William Moulton Marston Appreciation Society. 

After that, I had a ridiculous weekend, and asked the Irish if he might not want to do it again. This time he agreed and we met, once again, at the local spot that hosts the quiz. This time we joined the South African, of Never Have I Ever Fame, and were later joined by the Author, whose book once made me miss a train. At the beginning of the game it was just the South African, myself and the Irish and we had to hash out a quick team name. 

"I liked our team name last week," says the Irish. 

"What was that," asked the South African. He explained and this was quickly rejected. 

"We need something interesting," I piped in. 

"How about the Crimson Tide, the..." This went on into a long string of names I have forgotten and rejected. 

"Someone needs a spanking," I say to the South African. 

"Oi, that's perfect," she said as she began writing it down, and thus, our team was named and ready to play. 

It happened that this particular night Quatermain was calling the quiz. As he read out the names of the variety of quiz teams we set, amused with ourselves and patiently listened. 

"The Dagoonsquad. The Lezbros." There was a slight pause and it was clear Quatermain had gotten to us. 

"Someone Needs a Spanking...yes they do," he added quietly, which caused riotous fits of laughter between me and the South African, and smiles from the Irish, and a polite wink from the stage intended just for us gigglers.

Considering the rag tag group we had put together, we did not do half bad, coming in at third place that night. We won a pitcher of beer, which was appreciated and drunk, and the Irish and I bailed fairly fast as we were tired and wanted desperately to sleep.

I sent out messages next week to everyone, including the Author who had arrived late. 

"Let's meet there at 7:30 to get dinner." And so we did. Someone Needs a Spanking continued with the original line up and was joined by the Apprentice, who was in town, and the Geisha, the Irish's pretty and polite blue-eyed girlfriend. The Geisha sat out, as our team could only have five, and we launched into yet another quiz. 

The team of the five of us worked very well together, and at the end of the second round we knew the game was ours to loose. We entered into the third round, and managed to stay in our lead, and to our great surprise, won. We split our winnings five ways with me buying drinks for the announcers and then agreed to do it one more time. 

Which is where we were last night when we all met up in the bar. The original team, just the Irish, myself, the South African and the Author. 

"Well, we are the returning champions," says the Author. 

"I'd rather just play for fun. Or have a nap." Says the Irish and he puts his head down. 

We order some dinner, and get our meals in, get our score sheets, send up our name and then buckle down for the three rounds. The rounds included things with Q, Two Actors, One Film, and Nicknames. 

Q we swept pretty easily, being fairly up on all our Q things we needed to know. At the end of the round we were coming in with the lead and feeling very good about ourselves. Between the Q round and the Actors round there was a beer competition asking us to submit a superhero.

"How about telepathy many, he can see ten minutes into the future in Djibouti."

"What?" I asks. The Author is smiling, mighty pleased with himself. 

"In Djabouti. He can only see things ten minutes into the future in that one location in Africa."

"That's pretty obscure." 

We wrote it down on a napkin and sent it up. We at least got a giggle out of it. However we were beaten out by a variety of Kimchi man.  During the actors round we managed to hold up well, with me failing to know which movie Gary Oldman and Benedict Cumberbatch were in together. And considering that I saw the damn film, I should have known, but somehow it escaped me. We came out of the end of the round in second place and were feeling not quite so good about ourselves. 

Then we had beer challenge number two. The Limbo Contest. 

"Who can limbo," the South African asks. The Irish put his head back down for a nap, and the Author and the South African had a quick limbo test. 

"I got this," says the Author. 

And got it he did. He limboed like some kind of limbo-god from limbo-mythology, taking that limbo to the floor and asking for more, and outlimboing a pretty limber limbo girl who was trying hard to win a beer. 

"And that is the picture of him winning," the South African comes back and hands me my camera. All that limbo goodness, caught in action. 

This left us with a pitcher of beer, a point behind in the game and one round to go. 

Sadly, the nickname round started out with rappers. We were seriously worried as none of us had that. However it quickly moved into author's and pen names, and secret names, like Don Diego de La Vera, and we had that. The Lezbros, the team that was beating us out by one point, seemed pretty confident sitting just in front of us. At the end of the round we were pretty sure we were going to wash out. 

We waited for the answers and the roll call. As they rolled the answers we were feeling pretty good, but we could also see that the Lezbros were feeling pretty confident two. They started to roll the team names and we waited, expecting to see ourselves at the bottom of the list. 

And when we didn't come in fifth the excitement built. 

We made it to the top three. 

In fact, the top two. 

In fact, we beat out the Lezbros by about four points to sweep the game and maintain our title, two weeks in a row, pulling down a handy sum of 170,000 won for our trouble. It amused. As I thought about it, being on a Bar Pub Quiz team was a lot like being on the Academic Bowl team, but with more alcohol and sex.

"Well, for our last dance, that is a good way to go out," a sentiment we all agreed with. With me out of the country soon, and Author headed back to the states, Someone Needs a Spanking, will exit no longer. 

"I'm going to need a new name for my team. Like maybe Little Spanky, or the Spankers Revenge or something," the South African mused. 

I'll be back. And I'll drag the Irish with me, and we shall create a new team. The Spankers shall rise again.