Ken Kesey, "Sometimes a Great Notion"
(This is part 18 of an 18-part story, which begins here. Part 15 is here. And here is where you find part 10. Part five? Right here. After that, you�re on your own.)
The last two days were fairly uneventful. On the day before we left, I took my father to the hospital to check on his arm, which was still hurting. As it turns out he did tear some ligaments and tissue in his shoulder and he now has to begin what will probably be months of therapy before he can use it properly again.
I tried to read while he was being worked over, but this book put me right to sleep. I always thought it was funny that even though I had read One Flew Over the Cuckoo�s Nest so long ago and loved it, I had never bothered to read anything else by Kesey. Now I realize that this may have been for the best.
I got through the ticket counter, misspelled name and all, with no problems. My boots however, set off the metal detector, and they made me take them off, sent them through the x-ray machine, and swiped their metal detector over my socks for five minutes.
I arrived at the Oakland airport. It was exactly how I left it. After numerous problem with baggage claims (they switched our carousel not once, not twice, but three times. And it took nearly 45 minutes before my bag appeared, now featuring a new rip stemming from the strap.) I finally made it out to the pick up area, standing on my old cold stone bench, craning my head looking for my ride.
It took two hours before it came.
