Like the gentle whisper of a meteor slamming
into the Earth, the Pre-Cambrian 747 touched down in Seoul.
Miss Wong, chief purser of the flight, immediately welcomed
the passengers to Korea and instructed them to use extra caution
when removing their children and carry on luggage from the
overhead storage bins, since most of the contents had undoubtedly
shifted time zones. Ken removed the toupee that had flown
down the aisle from his forehead and returned it to its owner
seven rows forward. He then sifted through the rubble of the
overhead compartment and located his briefcase. When he was
suitably intact he joined the rest of the comatose passengers
as they filed off to rubble claim.
After several minutes of staring at the revolving belt before
him, Ken realized that his baggage was nowhere to be found.
He approached Yoda, the gate agent. “Excuse me, but
is this all of the luggage from flight 881?” “Yes,
it all come out now. Rhy? Is your ruggage missing?”
“Yes, it seems to be.” “OK. You rait here.”
Yoda disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a note
pad, portable lie detector, and 100-watt bulb. Yoda quickly
attached the armband and heart monitors to Ken’s chest.
He then pumped air into the armband to apply pressure. He
calibrated the monitor and began the interrogation. “Name?”
The agent said as he turned on the 100-watt bulb and shone
it directly into Ken’s eyes. “Ken.” The
needles remained steady on the monitor. “Mr. Ken, when
did you rast see your bag?” “When I checked it
in at your counter in the States.” “Color?”
“Caucasian.” The needles jumped. Yoda jumped up
and slapped Ken quite sharply. Ken didn’t mind. In fact
he found it quite stimulating. “No, not you! Da bag!”
“Oh, sorry. Black.” The needles were steady again.
“Can you describe da bag prease?” The agent said
as he finely tuned the light and focused it into the pupils
of Ken’s eyes. Ken squinted. “Well, it’s
hard-sided, black, about this big…” Ken moved
his hands to outline a medium-sized bag. “OK. I berieve
you. You can go now.” Said the agent as he turned off
the light bulb and removed the monitoring devices from Ken’s
body. “What about my bag?” “I dunno. We
see what we can do.” “But all of my clothes are
in that bag.” “You rie to me! You wear clothes
now, so not all your clothes are in bag!” Yoda said
as he once again slapped Ken in the face. Again Ken was quite
stimulated. “What am I supposed to wear tomorrow? What
if my bag never shows up?” “Here. I give you supervisor’s
number. You call tomorrow! I go make tea now! Bye-bye!”
And with that the interrogation was over. Ken hated that these
sessions had always ended so abruptly—there was never
any form of closure. He always left feeling so empty and unfulfilled.
Having no luggage Ken was able to clear customs in 37 seconds.
He converted a few dollars into local currency, the won, and
was an instant millionaire. Ken was sure that Ed McMahon was
waiting with a camera crew just around the corner. He paused
few moments to adjust his hair, then hailed a cab. Although
there was no sign of Ed, he was positive that he would appear
at any moment. He instructed the driver to proceed to the
hotel, all the while keeping a watchful eye out for Ed. As
they sped down the motorway Ken attempted to focus on the
billboards, which was no easy task after flying for seventeen
days. After several minutes he concluded that the entire Korean
alphabet had been run through the spin cycle one too many
times and was simply impossible to comprehend. The jetlag
was becoming unbearable, so Ken reached into his briefcase
and broke open the emergency flask of vodka. There was no
ice, but it was vodka nonetheless. It would do.
The cab pulled up in front of the hotel. The fare came to
3,274,576 won, or roughly three dollars. Ken once again adjusted
his hair as he exited the cab. Still no sign of Ed McMahon.
Perhaps Ed was lost—easy enough to do in a land where
the alphabet was so non user-friendly. Oh well…Ken really
wasn’t in any condition to be photographed anyway. Seventeen
porters swarmed the cab to assist Ken with his luggage. Seeing
that he had no luggage they opted to carry Ken instead. It
was fabulous. Ken was carried through reception directly to
his room without ever having to lift a finger. He had visions
of Cleopatra sailing down the Nile in the glory days of Egypt.
“Do you think I could have a vodka tonic?” Ken
inquired. “Oh res, we have one arready waiting for you.”
Replied young Mei-ling as she revealed a shiny black urn.
The tinkling of ice cubes from within the urn warmed Ken’s
heart. Yes, Korea was indeed a wonderful country. The entourage
deposited Ken gently upon his bed and departed. He sighed
as he lay there sipping the precious vodka nectar.
Ken awoke with a start the next morning at noon. The toxic
vapors wafting around his room informed him immediately that
his clothes had not miraculously restored themselves overnight.
It was now three full days that he had been wearing the same
clothes. He squinted and tried to read the phone number on
Yoda’s business card. He thanked God that numerals had
been spared when the Koreans mutilated their alphabet during
the Spin-Dry Dynasty. He dialed the number and inquired as
to the whereabouts of his luggage. “We know dat your
bags are not in Korea.” “Really, so did I! What
am I going to do for clothes until my luggage arrives?”
“Calm down! You want to be interrogated again?!”
Ken paused for a moment while he considered the offer. The
agent resumed before Ken had a chance to respond. “No
probrem. We give you 200 dollah, so you can go buy whatever
you want.” “Really?” “Yes, Da money
is waiting for you at reception.” That was all Ken needed
to hear. He was on the streets and shopping immediately. Two
hundred dollars now made him a billionaire in Korea! That
was enough to buy a car, seven servants, a country home and
a whole new fall wardrobe! There was still no sign of Ed McMahon,
but Ken was loving life.
Ken would need some solid supplement to go along with his
vodka prior to making any major purchases, so he decided to
share some of his newfound wealth with a local restaurant.
“Mama-san’s Chicken Soup”. It sounded perfect,
and the sign was even in Pre Spin-Dry Dynasty characters.
Ken entered the restaurant. He immediately noticed that the
restaurant was quite eco-friendly, and shared its ovens with
the local crematorium. The ashes floating about the room added
ambiance. He noticed the counter that proudly displayed the
specialty of the house. Chicken soup, of course. Ken recognized
the chicken immediately by its head and feet. “I’ve
had worse things in my mouth!” he thought to himself.
The hostess instructed him to remove his shoes and have a
seat. Ken all too quickly sat down and removed his shoes.
Had he thought it out he would’ve realized that three-day-old
sweaty socks are indeed quite toxic to all forms of life.
When he removed his shoes an alarm went off immediately. The
toxic vapors permeated every square inch of the restaurant
within seconds. The environment was completely contaminated.
The customers evacuated the premises. Ken was so embarrassed.
A cleanup crew appeared wearing snazzy orange biohazard suits
and immediately wrapped Ken’s feet in shrink-wrap. The
hostess returned with a pair of tongs, which she used to lift
Ken’s shoes and toss them out into the street. She then
pointed for Ken to do the same. He bowed his head in shame
as he exited the restaurant.
The biohazard cleanup crew quickly sealed Ken inside of a
large plastic bubble on wheels. He was transported to the
local hazardous waste center, where his clothes were burned
and his body was processed through a series of chemical dips.
He emerged freshly scrubbed and more blonde than he had ever
been in his entire life. Perhaps some good would come of this
most humiliating experience after all. He simply adored his
new haircolor. Barbie would be quite envious. The center even
provided him with a fresh new Armani outfit. So what if it
was a knockoff…nobody could see the label on the inside
anyway! He truly admired the Korean welfare system. He would
be sure to remember them in his will. The staff all lined
up and applauded as Ken exited the center. He performed several
turns as he exited down the runway, so as to allow them all
full view of his new outfit. He felt as if he had been reborn.
He swore he would avoid local restaurants for the remainder
of his trip. He would stick to more four-star establishments
such as Popeye’s and Burger King.
The reality of his predicament began to settle in as he walked
away from the center. He was alone and friendless in a strange
land. But now that he was a billionaire and toxin-free, he
decided to buy some friends and a fabulous time. He proceeded
to the local tailor, where he would have his entire fall wardrobe
custom made. Along the way he bought three new friends. Three
was a good number, that way they would fit perfectly around
the table for Bridge later that night. Between fittings Ken
stocked up on some essentials, conveniently provided by local
street vendors. Toothpaste, underwear, Ginsu knives and Brillo
pads…everything he needed. He avoided the local marketplaces—he
had no need for freeze-dried squid or fresh baby turtles.
He had adapted to his new billionaire’s lifestyle quite
quickly.
Later that afternoon he was forced to replace his new friend
number two, who had been stricken with nonstop eruptions of
the dreaded garlic burp. No matter how infrequent, these lethal
burps were always quite toxic. The air around Friend Number
Two was simply uninhabitable. Ken dropped him off at the biohazard
center and exchanged him for a non-toxic graduate.
Ken’s week in Korea flew by before he realized it.
Air Samurai never did find his luggage, but it all worked
out for the best. He had gained an entire new wardrobe and
several new friends all compliments of the airline. He would
be sure and send them a note of gratitude when he returned
home. In an instant he had managed to restore the nation’s
economy and purchase several new friends and palaces, all
thanks to his billionaire status and gold card. His departed
in all the splendor of an emperor…hand carried by six
rented servants. His three newly purchased friends tossed
cherry blossoms into the air all along his path. He looked
fabulous swathed in silk. The merchants had declared his departure
date a day of national mourning.
Ken passed through the currency exchange portal and was once
again returned to pauper status. He was; however, left with
several rich memories that would last a lifetime. It was now
time for Ken to board his Air Geritol (partner airline of
Air Samurai) flight for a weekend in paradise. He had purchased
the island stopover while he was still a billionaire and could
afford such luxuries. The fright attendants were obviously
of the Paleozoic era. Genus Pan Amicus, Species Geraticus.
Tyrannosaurus Bets took his coat while Illiana Mugwamp, her
partner, offered him a cup of Ginseng tea. “It will
do wonders for your complexion, and keep you from getting
wrinkles.” Illiana was obviously allergic to ginseng.
T-Bets, being a carnivore by nature, received all of her liquids
from the blood of her prey.
Ken focused his attention on the small dome atop T-Bets’
head. It was brown and obviously synthetic in nature. He guessed
that it probably matched the color of T-Bet’s hair at
some point during the sixties. She had obviously grown accustomed
to it, and perhaps it served some navigational purpose. She
would never part with it, no matter how gray its foundation
had become. As she came closer to inquire as to his entrée
selection he inspected it for signs of antennae. None present.
She obviously communicated telepathically, Ken was sure of
it.
The fright attendants were all natives of the island to which
the plane was headed. Ken wondered what other forms of life
the island had to offer. Was the ad nothing more than a cruel
hoax? Would he be spending the weekend in Jurassic Park—alone
with the reptiles? He ordered an extra large vodka tonic from
Illiana and tried not to think about it too much. |
