Saturday, June 19, 2004

I was on a tour, like a travel tour, reminiscent of the "fam" trips I used to take when I was a travel agent. There was a bunch of us in a hotel room, and we were trying to pack up before going down to breakfast. Then we learned that we would have time to come back to the room to finish packing after breakfast so we all filed out. I was glad because I had been trying to fit my large white and slightly damp bathrobe into my cosmetics bag and was having trouble. I laid it on the bed and planned to put it in one of those small paper shopping bags from Starbucks when I got back from breakfast.

So the restaurant was crowded and we all formed a line. Two of our group, two men, had gotten there ahead of everyone else and were being seated by the hostess. We were jealous because we had to wait. Another of our group, a friend of the two men, and a guy I went to high school with, cut the line and went in and joined them at their table. Just then, a French man (I think we were in France or Switzerland) noticed this line-jumping and reported it to the hostess. We all turned to see what the hostess's reaction would be and when we turned back around, an angry mob comprised of the other people in the dining room (but surprisingly, none of us still in line!)were attacking my high school acquaintance who was now a guy I went to junior high with who was suddenly in a wheelchair. We watched in growing horror as the mob of diners attacked the kid in the wheelchair. I was screaming, "He's in a wheelchair! He's in a wheelchair!" and clutching my head like the guy in Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Just as I was screaming this, someone who was standing on the very table where the three men were sitting to have their breakfast grabbed the kid in the wheelchair by the lapels of his muted tan and greenish plaid sport jacket and started to haul him, still in the chair, yes, chair and all, up off the floor and level to the table so they could better beat him.
That's it.

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