Lost Weekend

by the Cybershopaholic

I just spent a week trapped on an island with 140 lawyers, survived the plane ride home with two kids jacked-up on Halloween candy and a husband who managed to get seated in another part of the plane. The sun and fun were quickly fading into memory, as I considered the bathing suits mildewing in our suitcases, which by now had probably made friends with other bags and decided to tour Idaho with a bunch of wild Shriners. All of the rum I had so carefully sucked out of hollowed-out pineapples all week, was mostly metabolized and was now just making my thinking fuzzy and my head heavy.

I was almost happy to see the city of Newark, New Jersey when we finally landed. My father-in-law was waiting at the gate. We piled into the car and started for home. We had only traveled for ten minutes when we hit heavy traffic and then sat for two-and-a-half-hours waiting for a jack-knifed semi to move out of our way.

We had plenty of time to get caught up while trapped in our car. It seemed my husband's baby brother had gone missing over the weekend. Yes, little J.C. had given his folks quite a scare. The three of them had attended a family party on Saturday and little J.C. decided to stay overnight. When he didn't call the next day, the worrying began.

My father-in-law knew his son would be driving a long distance in an old car with mechanical problems and would it be too much trouble for him to just drop his folks a call and let them know he made it home safely? When J.C. finally did take the trouble to call them, two days had passed and he was very angry with his parents for treating him like a baby.

We were all surprised by his behavior and thought he was out of line for getting angry at his parents' loving concern, until we heard the whole story.

It wasn't just one message, it was just short of a national milk carton campaign. When J.C. didn't check in as expected, they called the police and described their missing child as answering to "J.C." and having soft brown eyes and sweet little dimples. They explained to the nice officer that their boy was only 336 months old and 74 inches long, and that he weighed 180 pounds, four ounces. He's a nice boy they added. He has a good job, owns his home, holds a master's degree, and he's single if you know any nice girls. The police informed them that there wasn't much for them to do until 48-hours had passed, but not to worry because most 28-YEAR-old, six-FOOT two, single MEN, usually find their way home from a weekend in New York City sooner or later. Since he had been "missing" about an hour or so, maybe he had stopped to eat or buy gas on his way home. With that, the officer gently but firmly hung up the phone.

Undaunted, J.C.'s parents continued calling his answering machine and leaving increasingly panicked messages all day Sunday. On Monday morning, Poppa Paul called J.C.'s employer, not once, but four times. J.C. had called, but the message didn't get to the right person, so they said they hadn't heard from him. Monday evening J.C. arrived home, listened to his messages and called home - a little miffed. Tuesday morning he spent several hours explaining to everyone at work what had become of him and that he was sorry he had made them worry too and that he was even sorrier his father was a total nut.

The important thing is that it all ended fine and everyone made it home safe and sound. Since my return, I have been super busy online helping my in-laws and J.C. with their holiday shopping. I'm looking for a good deal for my in-laws on one of those electronic monitoring systems that prisons use to track inmates. J.C. wants me to help him find a large pair of shears to give to his folks. It's a surprise, but we plan to have an umbilical cord cutting ceremony after we open our gifts. Now I remember why I usually put so much rum in the eggnog.

Posted by mayor at April 2, 2005 11:36 PM

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