Some people have fantasies of standing snake-like in front of a microphone in painted-on leather jeans in an arena with screaming fans frantically throwing underwear. I have this:
I am on an airplane, going somewhere unlikely: Bogota; Bruges; Christmas City, Utah. There is a Hasidic family on board: parents, a few kids, a grandfather. The plane takes off and the grandfather begins feeling unwell. Something terrible is happening. But where? The heart? The belly? The head? The grandfather is gesticulating wildly. Nobody can understand what any of the Hassids is saying; they only speak Yiddish. A doctor has been located on board, and he is getting nervous about his sudden patient. If only he could understand what was wrong! A flight attendant runs for the microphone at the front of the aircraft, about to ask a question whose answer she’s sure she already knows.
Does anybody on this plane speak…
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