Across the hall, I noticed Neal’s head above the crowd at check-in. Light bulb: whatever seat Neal landed would be mine, and he could sit with the Buñuel children. Thank fucking Christ. Hold on, it was Neal who was drawing a crowd. To wild applause, he began performing some sort of poor people’s jig. Oh my dear God, it was the “Come On Eileen” dance from that video by Dexys Midnight Runners. Words failed me. And then the check-in agents joined in—like a flash mob.
“Mr. Gunt.” Supervisor Tracey appeared in front of me. “Can I help you, sir?” She resembled a small version of those otherworldly beings that trashed Manhattan in the film Cloverfield.
“Tracey, yes, hello. I’m Raymond Gunt.”
“How can I help you, Mr. Gunt?”
“I—”
At that moment, Neal came running across the great class divide and threw his arms around me, his breath still reeking of unwashed arses. He backed off and slapped me in the chest, momentarily stunning me. “America beckons and we are going to make the most of it, bro!” He hoisted my bag onto Jenelle’s weigh scale.
Bro?
I forgot entirely what I was about to say to supervisor Tracey, who stared me down. “You need to board the flight now, sir. Security is that way. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go handle passengers with real problems.”
Jenelle handed me my boarding pass: 67E. “Next!” she called as my bag was swept off to the Crab Nebula by a sluggish black conveyor belt.
Miraculously, security screening was empty. Neal chose one lane; I chose the other, manned by two dim-looking, soul-dead lifers. Then, as if summoned from a rubbed genie’s bottle, ten security staff clad in every form of religious headwear imaginable scampered over to confront me. The stupider-looking of the two lifers announced, “This is the training station, sir. Please empty your pockets and put any metals or electronics in a separate bin. Also, please use a bin for your wallet, your shoes, your belt or any other item likely to trigger a metal detector. Do you have a laptop?”
Clad in socks, cargo shorts and a polo shirt, I walked through the screening gate.
Beep.
In the distance, Neal was already gathering his X-ray-screened carry-on bag (a vinyl tote from Tesco). I, meanwhile, watched as every item in my carry-on bag was unpacked, picked at with tweezers, nuzzled with chemical sampling cloths for gunpowder residue, and otherwise examined closely by a group of people who seemingly spoke no English yet had no other language in common. Crows descending on run-over squirrels go at their game with more decorum than shown by this lot.
On my fourth pass through the metal detector, I heard yet another dreaded beep.
“Could you please come with us, sir?” said one of the lifers.
Oh Christ, the fucking magic wand. I put my arms up.
“No, sir, could you please come with us into this room?”
“A sleeper cell?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Get a fucking sense of humour. “Nothing.”
Inside, a group of five young screeners-in-training stood ready. My screener said, “National security is a vital issue, Mr. …” he looked at my boarding pass, “Gunt.” Outside the door I heard the Buñuel crowd whizzing their way towards the gate, sounding like a cluster of ambulances.
My screener said, “If you’ll give me one second, Mr. Gunt, I’ll remove my flashlight and forceps from the sterilizer.”
“Come On Eileen” was a single released by Dexys Midnight Runners in 1982. Kevin Rowland, “Big” Jim Paterson and Billy Adams wrote the song; Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley produced it. It also appeared on the album Too-Rye-Ay. It was their first number one hit in the United Kingdom since 1980’s “Geno.” The song won Best British Single at the 1983 Brit Awards. What’s weird about this song is that it was so huge at the time and now you listen to it and wonder, what the hell was everyone thinking? Well, that’s pop culture for you.
07
I was the last passenger on the plane. I walked to 67E, withstanding the angry and accusatory glares of every passenger and each crew member. At the plane’s rear, all twelve Buñuel children took one look at me and ignited like smoke alarms.
I forgot to look for Neal. Well, wherever he was, once we were safely in the air, his seat was mine.
Just before we taxied to the end of the runway for takeoff, the captain announced that the entertainment system’s software was glitchy and that only one film was available for the flight: “We are proud to present to you the beloved year 2000 family favourite, The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas, starring Stephen Baldwin and Joan Collins, with a cameo by eighties rocker John Taylor, of Duran Duran.”