Please Hold Thumbs: Oh, That's Nice!

 I'll be frank here. I have to be frank because I can't be me. And Sammy sang "I Gotta Be Me" not Frank. That being said (whatever the hell that was), I have to admit to one and all that I am finding difficulty keeping up with this here blog in the midst of re-writing the first draft of my novel (see previous posts did: FIRST DRAFT DODGER and THE GRATING AMERICAN NOVEL), marketing my other written works (see my website at www.scottcherney.com)and the horrors of everyday life.

Therefore I have decided that, over the course of the summer, and in celebration of the 10th anniversary of its publication, I will release the first full chapter of my true travel tale PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT SO ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA. 

Here's the story:

Attending their daughter's wedding in South Africa promised to be the vacation of a lifetime. But first, they had to face the treacherous gauntlet of modern day travel

Join this hapless, sometimes helpless couple as they brave their way through a never-ending obstacle course filled with such hazards as flight delays, the purgatory of layovers and an incompetent, uncaring air carrier that treats its passengers worse than their luggage. Waiting for them on the other side of the world are an honest to goodness safari with amorous lions and elephants with anger issues, a life affirming visit to a South African school and an anxious bride and groom standing patiently at the airport with a sign that reads:

WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?

Please enjoy PLEASE HOLD THUMBS. I said please.

CHAPTER ONE
OH, THAT'S NICE

How long had I been dead to the world?

The exact time of day couldn’t be easily pinned down since there wasn’t a clock anywhere within my soft focused field of vision. By the light of the room in general, I took a wild guess and thought it might be daytime. Since I had been lying on my side in this bed, it could have been the stroke of midnight and this was a searchlight blasting in from the outside for all I knew. But right then and there, I didn’t know anything. 

I turned over onto my back and stared up at the whirling ceiling fan when it suddenly hit me:

I was back in ‘Nam.

Wait a second. That didn’t make any sense. I’d never been to Vietnam in the first place so how could I be back there? I may have been out of my head from fatigue, but I sure as hell knew I wasn’t Martin Sheen.

To my immediate left, I saw my wife Laurie in the bed beside me deep in the throes of slumber and figured out in my addled state of mind that where I had actually returned to was Beaverton, Oregon. The bedroom windows in our “European style” apartment had been wide open all night long, airing out the place after ten days away. The familiar sounds of the Max train, a proud member of Portland’s light rail system, whooshing into the station just three floors below our building brought a knowing grin to my bed sheet lined face. That was a sure sign that we were home again.

I rose from the bed with great difficulty. My body had contorted into one giant cramp. With each movement, I cracked and crunched so much, it sounded like a drive-by shooting in a popcorn factory. Maintaining my balance wasn’t any easier as I staggered about from one end of the apartment to the other in a game of human pinball. All this had to be achieved while my sleep-laden eyelids kept drooping closed and each attempt to open them became a strenuous weight training exercise. But, damn it to hell, I was determined.

I had to go to the can. There are some things a man just has to do.

It was the first coherent shit I had taken in over a week. My bowels had been performing in fits and starts for almost ten days now. This can be attributed to the fact that they had taken a trip around the world and had been treated with probably less care than my luggage. I wouldn’t say that I had a spastic colon, even though I do think that’s a great name for a band. (“Hello, Des Moines! Give it up for Spastic Colon!”) Then again, I still had that feeling of accomplishment; a claim to fame that could only be called “a guy thing”, a definite gold star in Camp Testosterone. Not only had I taken a dump on three different continents and in four time zones, but I had also squeezed off a few salvos on both sides of the equator. What a big boy am I.

But now I was back on the road to recovery. This included the bodily function known as the morning constitutional. Talk about a sigh of relief. I had a sudden moment of clarity as I discovered the true meaning of the word regularity. Maybe my ass, plain and simply, was just homesick. 

I then took something else that had been a luxury in the last little while-a long, hot shower. As I cleansed my body of whatever I had acquired in the past couple of days of travel, it dawned on me that the last time I had bathed was on the other side of the world.

Drying off after that lengthy hose down, I inspected myself in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t recognize the guy that was staring back at me. My face had tanned like never before and appeared to be more of a badge of honor that was earned rather than burned. The best part was that it was all natural, not one of those orange tinted spray jobs from a tanning salon that make its patrons resemble overcooked Cheetos. This was the real deal. I hadn’t shaved in several days and my beard stubble, sprinkled with various shades of gray as it has been for years now, complimented my new skin tone. Usually when I’m unshaven, I tend to think I look like a grizzled old sourdough out prospecting for gold. “Eureka! I done struck me the Mother Lode, by cracky!” Laurie hates that description, preferring instead to say I look “seedy”. Yeah. That sounds much better. But even she had to agree that this combination actually worked on me, giving me much needed maturity and, dare I say, a dash of ruggedness. Finally, I searched my eyes, trying to take this all in as I stared directly in the mirror. They were glassy, almost doll-like initially most certainly stemming from various stages of physical, mental and emotional exhaustion.  Their shade, seemingly much greener than before, had taken on a more muted hue, which fit quite comfortably with the rest of my new look. As I continued gazing at my eyes, they began to come to life as the drowsiness melted off. At this point, I was looking past them and what lay beyond. Suddenly the vision of a far-off land appeared before me, stretching off into the horizon and in the same array of earthen tones and colors sitting on the palette that was my face. A sudden recognition overtook me and I smiled at myself knowingly. I realized right then and there that I wasn’t dead to the world after all. I was alive. After all, I didn’t just visit South Africa; I had brought it home with me.

It was written all over my face,

Copyright 2010 by Scott Cherney

PLEASE HOLD THUMBS is available in paperback and Kindle at Amazon

More chapters available and travel tales on my page entitled CHERNEY JOURNEYS

Please Hold Thumbs: A Demon Marches to Pretoria

In this installment of PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT SO ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA, my wife and I finally landed in Johannesburg after four days of flight layovers, re-routings and general mismanagement by our carrier. (I won't mention any names, but it rhymes with Schmelta.)

While my wife bounded off the plane ready, willing and able to make up for lost-or more accurately, stolen-time, I was a wreck, going down for the count quickly with a deadly combination of a hangover and jet lag. 

Welcome to:

A DEMON MARCHES TO PRETORIA

My first impressions of South Africa were muted and filtered through my rapidly deteriorating state of mind and body. Anything I could assimilate in the drive from Johannesburg to Pretoria, where we would be staying, was unrealistic and should be taken with more than just a grain of salt. (Perhaps a peppercorn would have helped.) That said, the countryside looked to me much like parts of California’s San Joaquin Valley, an area I’m very familiar with since that’s where I spent most of my born days. I could have sworn that we were driving through Turlock at one point. Then again, I felt as though I had just been through brain surgery without an anesthetic.

We arrived at the home of Chris’ mom, Elke, in a gated community that had one major difference from one in the USA. Razor wire and lots of it was spun around the top of the walls surrounding the area, definitely a sign that trespassers were not welcome in the least. The use of razor wire can be justified by the residential burglaries that yearly range into the tens of thousands. The murder rate in Joburg’s greater metro area runs at about three times the rate of our very own Chicago. I don’t know what the stats were for Pretoria, but it could have only been slightly better due to its smaller size. Still there was no reason to feel paranoid, just vigilant. This would have been the same precaution one would take just about anywhere in the world, including back in the good ol’ USA (and especially Chicago apparently). You have to remember that in my hometown of Stockton, it was not unusual to hear gunfire in the middle of the night no matter where you lived. Still, it was obvious that even in this more affluent neighborhood in Pretoria, complete with adjoining golf course, security was a major concern. I couldn’t help but think that the razor wire gave this upscale suburban community a bit of a Fort Apache flair, reinforced by the security guard shack that were passed through upon arrival.

Once inside Elke’s lovely house where she so graciously allowed us to stay, I began to enter the earth’s atmosphere. I knew I would be crashing and burning some time very soon. After a much needed scrubbing that washed the trials and tribulations that had accumulated on my body for the past four days, I found my way to the nearest bed and down for the count I went for a necessary rest.

What I mistook for my own snoring stirred out of my slumber, but the thing that hovered over me brought me to full consciousness…I think. It was a naked doll-sized that seemed to have been dipped in oil, which would account for the glistening sheen of its skin and stringy clotted hair. Its pus colored eyes bulged forward as if ready to explode with blackened pupils surrounded by numerous blood veins staring directly at me. The sound that I thought was my snore was actually a phlegmy, wheezing growl that blew over his craggy teeth like the wind over ancient ruins. It took another half second to realize the gender of this thing was male if the enormous penis between its stubby legs had been any clue.

I tried to remain calm, but I had to flinch when it spoke.

“Human…” it hissed.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“You don’t know who I am?” it demanded indignantly.

“I dunno…Flavor Flav?”

“I am the Tokoloshe!”

“Taco who?”

Then I remembered reading about this little imp in my research before the trip.

“Oh yeah. Tokoloshe. You’re a South African demon or something, aren’t you?”

He rolled his bug-eyes.

“This is South Africa. I am the Tokoloshe. So yeah, good guess, human.”

I noticed that when he shifted his weight from one foot to the next, he had only one buttock. No wonder he was so unpleasant.

“Wait a minute. In everything I read about you, you’re not supposed to be able to get on a bed that’s elevated above the floor. That’s why people put bricks or blocks underneath. You can’t climb. This bed’s off the floor. How’d you get up here?”

“I pole vaulted.”

“How?”

“I had impure thoughts and let nature its course. She-boing!”

With that, he grabbed his unit and started spinning it around cockily, so to speak.

“Stop that. What’re you, Will Rogers? You can put an eye out with that thing. What do you want anyway?”

He threw his package over his shoulder like a Continental soldier and snarled.

“I am going to make your life a living hell!”

My nasty mood resurfaced and I shot back at the little creep.

“Okay, save your breath, Long Dong Silver! I just spent the last four days in and out of airplanes and airports trying to get to this place. I am jet lagged and pissed off. I need to sleep, you got it? Besides there’s nothing that you can do that would be any worse that what the goddamn airline I booked passage on hasn’t inflicted on me already. To sum up, I am not in the mood for any of your shit, you half-assed little bastard.”

The Tokoloshe looked taken aback.

“What airline did you fly?”

“Delta.”

“Oh yeah. Those guys suck. You poor son of a bitch.”

“So you gonna leave me alone?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he sneered. “I’ll go visit the neighbors.”

“Thanks. Sorry about the half-assed remark.”

“Don’t mention it. I get crabby when I’m tired too. Get some rest, human. I know the way out.”

He turned to go, but I stopped him.

“Hey, Tokoloshe?”

“What?”

“Do you know Charlize Theron?” He smiled with his Parthenon teeth then began to quiver.

“Charlize Theron? Whoa…”

With that, the Tokoloshe got excited again and propelled himself off the bed.

“You okay?”

“Eina! Uhh…you were right.”

“About what?”

“I almost put my eye out with this thing.”

With that, I drifted back to sleep, if I was ever awake at all. Something tells me I dreamt the whole thing.

Next Up: BAD KITTY

and if you haven't already, read the first chapter OH, THAT'S NICE

To purchase the unedited version PLEASE HOLD THUMBS in paperback or Kindle. go to AMAZON or my store on Lulu.com SCOTT CHERNEY'S STORE

Please Hold Thumbs

It is with a great deal of pride and a heaping helping of pleasure that I announce the publication of my latest book entitled:
PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT-SO-ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA

Please hold what? Thumbs, my dears, thumbs. It's a South African expression (sometimes attributed to the Germans as well) that means the same thing as crossing your fingers for luck, Luck is something my wife and I both needed back in 2002 when this truest of all possible true stories took place.

Attending our daughter's wedding in South Africa promised to be the vacation of a lifetime. But first, we had to face the treacherous gauntlet known as modern day travel. Join us, won't you, for we are indeed a hapless, sometimes helpless couple as we brave our way through a never-ending obstacle course filled with such hazards as flight delays, the purgatory of layovers and an incompetent, uncaring air carrier that treats its passengers worse than their luggage.

Waiting for us on the other side of the world are an honest-to-goodness safari with amorous lions and elephants with anger issues, a life-affirming visit to a South African school and an anxious bride and groom, standing patiently at the airport with a sign that reads:

"WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?"

The answer lies within the pages of PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT-SO-ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA, a tale of triumph and turbulence...one that dares to tell the world's cruelest joke:

HAVE A NICE TRIP?

SEE YA NEXT FALL!

PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT-SO-ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA  IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON KINDLE 

To read excerpts from PLEASE HOLD THUMBS or any other of my travel blogs please visit my page CHERNEY JOURNEYS