The Glasgowits, Part I: Guy Hasson Seagull
In the beginning there was nothing, and out of the nothing came a complete flight plan, along with flight tickets, insurance and whatnot, which were all designed to take us in the maximum speed and safety to the city of Aberdeen, Scotland. I gave Guy a call, therefore, to make some inquiries. “Tell me,” said I, “why exactly are we going to Aberdeen, Scotland?” “Because of the science fiction convention, I believe.” “Have you taken into consideration the fact that the convention is actually located in Glasgow?” “What do you mean, ‘Glasgow’?” “I mean the city in which the convention will take place.” “Isn’t it Aberdeen?” “Glasgow.” “You’re putting me on!” “No I’m not!” “Shit!”
The day of the flight arrived. Guy and I are having one final phone call to settle the petty details – things we shouldn’t forget to take with us, how and when we arrive at the airport, etc. Having settled all that, I tell him that I just had a talk with Lavie, who’ll be arriving from London by car and meet us tomorrow – i.e. the day of our arrival – sometime in the evening. “You mean two days from now,” said Guy. “I definitely mean tomorrow,” I said. “But we fly only tomorrow night!” “No, my dear. We fly tonight.” “You’re putting me on!” “No I’m not!” “Shit!”
The flight was almost uneventful. Guy managed to extract some innocent fun out of the overhead switches, trying to turn on the reading light and doing everything else instead. There was also a very interesting episode which involved a most entertaining search for small change in all of one’s inner and outer pockets, including the shoes. Also, Guy kept trying on me his scottish accent: “Theshe are the voyagesh of the shtarrrship enterprrrishe…” But I made him stop.
Yesterday, having arrived safely at Glasgow, we found a hotel, and indeed met Lavie and his jolly London friends, John, Russel and Nicole, and there was great rejoicing. Guy tried his scottish accent on Lavie, and the latter started crying about having to cope with that kind of thing for five or six hours of driving, since John and Russel are actors. I therefore immediately bombed him with my own collection of exquisite scottish phrases, starring “Fer fucks sakes, Billy” and “Fer crrying out laud!” After he finished crying, Lavie limited his conversation to the lovely hotel rooms he and his friends got by some special deal or other. My suggestion that he marries his hotel room was not received nicely. All this took place while eating a nice italian dinner. Afterwards the Londoners went to have some rest, while our Tremendous Trio went to have a beer and a chat in a local pub. Lavie was really excited about the fact that, as opposed to London pubs, this place seemed to be operating in hours later then midnight, upon which declaration the pub was closed and everyone driven out.