within which he will not permit racist thoughts or remarks to be made. Neither will he suffer sexist feelings, nor foolish, sloppy thinking.
Yet, Zeppah is admired by everyone, pandering to no one, and does not sell out bits of his soul for acceptance, as I do. Believing that part of our different approaches to acceptance might have to do with his Faith, I have asked him to provide me with literature about Bahai, which he has graciously done…. but have not yet had the courage to broach what I perceive to be the major difference in our souls….. I’m not yet ready for him to discard me for my weaknesses.
Why do I allow myself to be corrupted for acceptance, while he is strong enough not to bend to the need to fit, to bond with the bullshit secret-handshakes of Racism, and of Us-ism against Them-ism? As I get to know Zeppah better, I will plumb him for his methods, the secret of his Self. Meanwhile, I will observe from a distance, trying to learn, and revel in what I see now as possible.
I am glad that Zeppah, my Jonathan Livingston Seagull, has come to show me what is possible, and more importantly, what is not necessary.
Sheamus — World Cup
We’re on our way to Paris, Sheamus’s Mexican Company has booked the charter, Mexico City — JFK — CDG, and return. Two planes, 1000 people, total.
This year, France is hosting the world-cup soccer matches, and Paris is packed.
“Seriously, Sheamus, how’d you pull it off?”
“Easy, Rabbi,” he explains. Two planes, round trip, a total of about 50 hours of power. I figure Moe’s costs are about seven grand an hour, so I offer him ten grand an hour, a total for both flights, round off to about $500,000 for the charter. I use my Mexican company’s name.”
“What’s that?”
Sheamus and his buddy had sold lottery tix in Mexico for $40 U.S. apiece out of the major supermarkets in Mexico City. They promised twenty million Mexicans a chance to fly to Paris to see their beloved Mexican soccer team play in the World Cup matches. These people have never been out of Mexico City before, no less flown to Paris to see the World Cup playoffs. There will be 1000 lucky winners.
We had rules,” Counting on his fingers, “Rule #1 — no suitcases, no baggage, no hotel room.”
“What? How’s that possible, Sheamus?”
“Easy. The deal is that the lucky 1000 wet-backs would fly to JFK —refuel / recrew, fly to Paris, get on buses and be taken directly to the soccer arena. After the game, it’s back on the buses, back to the plane and the flight home, period!”
“How much did the soccer tickets in Paris cost?”
We picked up 1000 cheap seats for $20,000 total. Nobody wanted to see Mexico play!”
“Yeah, except your Mexicans!”
“Got that right, Rabbi! We started selling those tickets six months ago. Sold more than 50,000 of those babies, raised $2,000,000 in no time. We gave the supermarkets $2 a ticket for selling them. $500 grand for the planes, 20 grand for the busses. So, we netted 1 million four.
I’ve got about $700,000 U.S. dollars waiting for me in Mexico City. “Jesus, Sheamus!”
“Rabbi, the best part was that our original risk, our actual exposure, was only the $50K for the planes, and the $20K for the tickets and buses. The rest came out of receipts, even the $50K would have been refundable if the tickets didn’t sell well in Mexico City.”
“So you and your partner had an actual exposure of what, only $12,000 each?”
“Got that right, Rabbi…. Stevie, do you know the difference between a speculator and an investor?”
No Sheamus, but you’ll tell me.”
“I’m an Investor…. all the other guys are Speculators!”
Serious now, I ask, “So what’re you gonna do with your $700,000, retire?”
“Well, there is a slight hang up, so I’m not sure yet about timing my retirement.”
“What’s the slight hang-up, Sheamus?”
“I can’t seem to get in touch with my partner, Paco.”
“What’s Paco’s last name?”
“Rodriquez something, or Gonzales something…”
“Oh.”
When we arrive, Paris is ecstatic. The timing of our 48 hour layover includes France winning the World Cup, and the Bastille Day celebration in one shot. France explodes in double celebration, and we join the jubilant crowds on the
Next week, back in New York, Sheamus is trying to get me to invest in a new venture… Its seed money, baby, just chump change.”
“How much are you talking about, Sheamus?”
This during a five minute break from Recurrent Ground School training, two boring days of torture, conducted by Engineer-cum-asshole Bruce Quinn, everybody’s “hero.” Word about Bruce’s inability to tell whether the gear was down and locked going into Islamabad, had traveled quickly. This class he was just slightly less of an asshole, apparently embarrassed that everybody knew about his “incident.”
It seems that Sheamus is in lust again, another Indonesian
“You’re not a real pilot, Sheamus.”
“What?” Sheamus taken aback.
“That’s right. A real pilot would bring the girl into his home and tell the wife that now she (the wife) is the cleaning lady.” I turn back to the classroom as I watch Sheamus’ mouth drop open.
Home
Home, at last, this is going to be a good one, a long one, the flying has slowed some. I’ve resolved to be more gentle, less controlling, in my relationship with Geri and Kiley.
Were a one-car family, and we like it that way. Geri has picked me up at the Jax airport, and the ride home has been light, pleasant banter. No bullshit yet about money problems, or the honey do’s that need to get done around the house. Geri drops me at home, and returns to work.
Showering, scrubbing off the dust of a few continents, I change into shorts and a t-shirt. I get the washer started, and Emma, our male cat, is suddenly underfoot, rubbing, walking between my legs. Following his castration a few years back, Emma has become heavy and lazy, sleeping on his back in the sun after meals. I’ll never forget coming home and Kiley, all of about four-years-old then, rushing out to confide to me… “Daddy, daddy, Emmie had his balls cut off today!”
“You’re a chow-hound, Emma,” I accuse. If you overeat, Mommy’s gonna be all over me…but you’re wounded…and I know how to take care of veterans,” as I fork more tuna into Emma’s dish.
