Seated at the next table today at China Doll were three long-retired airline pilots who were reminiscing in loud voices on airsickness of days past. They seemed to think that “regurgitate” was more acceptable table talk than “vomit” or “puke;” and thus they droned on, in sentences such as “I started to feel sick, but I didn’t regurgitate. It wasn’t until we got closer to New York that I regurgitated.”
That was going on next to us. Above us was the only PA speaker in the ceiling, and it was raining down muzak versions of “Lost in Love” and comparable classics, directly onto our food.
Despite the excellent preparation of the eggplant with garlic sauce, I found it difficult to enjoy my meal. In fact, I felt as though my whole world was melting into a swirling morass of tossed cookies and lost love, Eastern Airlines, air sickness bags, eggplant and garlic sauce. Today’s luncheon was, in the words of Mark Twain, “tedious and wretched and dismal and nasty.”