one bladder infection and a lot of cacti
The first thing that hits you about Arizona is the heat. I felt it through the jetway as soon as I stepped off the place, air thick like molasses seeping through the cracks and leaving a shiny film of sweat all over my skin. “But it’s a dry heat,” argue all of the pro-Arizonians, “you hardly feel it, compared to the sticky humidty of the East Coast.” Arizona is in the desert, so yes, it’s dry. But 110+ degrees is the type of heat that you feel, no matter which adjective (dry, wet, humid) comes before it. I’m pretty sure the heat would have similarly engulfed me even if I wasn’t carrying a laptop back pack, a purse and a shoulder bag. Even if my pants weren’t sliding off my hips every few minutes. Even if this wasn’t a freakishly large airport with some of the longest hallways I’d ever seen in my life. Even if I didn’t have a raging bladder infection that I mysteriously developed a few days before leaving California (side note- This was my first bladder infection and it was remarkably painful. It took me three days to even realize I had a bladder/urinary tract infection and not just some strange, seizing stomach pains that coincidentally made it unbearable to pee. If possible, try to avoid getting such an infection, because not only is it uncomfortable and requires antibiotics that make your pee sort of orange, you have to drink a lot of cranberry juice, which unless it is mixed with vodka is a no no for me). All of these factors together, while unpleasant to say the least, became instantly bearable when I was loading my luggage into my dad’s car and knew air conditioning was only a few minutes away.
“Okay Dad, seriously, turn the air on I’m covered in sweat.”
“I know, you smell. Just kidding, it’s great to see you. How was the flight? Wow, you have a lot of luggage. What’s in those bags anyway?”
“Stuff, it’s my stuff Dad. Seriously, the air conditioning!” When he didn’t answer I looked over and saw him repeatedly turning the key in the ignition. Nothing was happening.
“Fuck fuck it’s dead. It’s totally fucking dead, it’s shot, fuck, it’s not turning on it’s dead.”
“What? The battery’s dead? Stop swearing. Use your real words.”
We were in one of those “absolutely no parking or waiting for more than 47 seconds or we’ll tow you and give you a million dollar ticket” zones. My dad was on the phone with AAA. Did he just swear at the lady on the phone?
“Dad, calm down. ” My father has ridiculous issues managing the VOLUME OF HIS VOICE, especially in times of mild to severe crisis when maintaining your composure is most crucial. He is the one in the family who panics- more than anyone I’ve ever met. I was positive the lady on the phone was now entirely deaf and would never be able to send someone to help us. People started honking. The airport security patrol van was approaching the car, I was positive it was 125 degrees, oh, and my bladder still hurt. I looked around. Once your mind gets past the heat, the second thing that hits you about Arizona is that there are an exceptional amount of cacti.
the writing is great in this post. very fresh. very short story-esque.