The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
-by Sherryanne De La Boise
The Luggage Tag
I made my husband wear a luggage tag. We were to disembark at a very specific time. I kept forgetting which group and what time. So, I took a blue luggage tag (we were in the blue group 17, leaving at 3:25) and wrote boldly onto it, "Please return to Sherryanne 17-3:25."
This was when we had to be air lifted out of Canada, after our vessel got marooned in ice.
The wind had shifted. Big ice pancakes packed against the hull. While others worried about being away an extra week, Nerd Girl was in heaven! For, on this expedition were many great minds. The ship's library was stocked with their works. The extra week gave me time to devour their books, then plop down beside them and pepper them with questions.
The ship's doctor posted a list whereby anyone, using a self-devised code name, could write if they were running short of a prescription. In the midst of those seeking serious heart and cholesterol medications, I scribbled that "Al Nonymous" was seeking Viagra.
The Canadian Coast Guard sent a massive icebreaker. But, it did not go well. We couldn't follow in the path they broke.
Then, they twice circled our ship. As soon as they got a quarter of the ship loose and started working on the next quarter, the sea would freeze, and the ice would pack back. In desperation, the icebreaker crossed our bow, forward and reversed.
For me, this maneuver was absolutely terrifying. The icebreaker could have sheared off our bow, or worse. I watched from the bridge, having stashed our lifejackets under a nearby deck chair, just in case.
Our ship reversed, just like one would do to blast forward and free a car from being stuck in the mud. But, ice jammed into the propellers. We were mired.
The Canadians laid alongside and came aboard to discuss a new plan (just in time for dinner). Lots and lots of whiskey and steaks before it was decided that the expedition across the North-West passage had to be cancelled.
It took two days for the ice breaker to escort us to the airfield in Resolute. It is one of the coldest inhabited places, but actually has a hotel. I was anticipating seal or bear or fish meal, but the hotel served us frozen peanut butter and chocolate bar sandwiches, a new favorite. The weather was so foggy and miserable, a rescue plane could not land. We got back onto the ship.
We all had visas from Greenland (having just come from there), but the Danish government would not permit re-entry.
Shame, shame: The American military base on Greenland also denied us entry (afraid of asylum seekers?). So, we went for a couple of days to Ellesmere Island, while the big boys figured it out. In the distance, one of the naturalists saw a herd of elusive tawny brown Musk Ox and a way to sneak up on them. I have Inuit underwear, knitted of soft, luxurious musk ox hair. Extremely expensive.
Count me in, I wanted to see cuddly soft creatures up close (ha! They are shaggy like bison and just as smelly). The Inuit women only have one pair of underwear (They rinse them in snow each night and let them dry at the bottom of the bed, since everyone sleeps nude). They are hip huggers , because a woman never knows when she might have a tummy, and short shorts (because to go to the bathroom, the crotch is pulled aside).
Their clothes have a slit on the leg to do this. They think we are terribly barbaric, because we bare the full moon to pee, risking frostbite on the nether regions.
Anyhow, we are in pursuit of the Musk Ox. So as to not mar the High Arctic terrain by our footprints, we hike single file with binoculars, cameras, and rifles (This is polar bear country) for three hours.
We are very quiet, as we do not want the herd to run off. As we come around the bend, we find that the herd was just a large number of rusty 55 gallon fuel drums. All is not lost, for in the nearby scree, there is a running white candle, an Arctic Hare. Standing upright on his hind legs. His short ears resemble a wick. His speed would have put Bugs Bunny to shame. Not hopping, but actually running on those long legs (The hair of the hare is used to knit fluffy, pristine white lace trim, which is more expensive than Mother's mink coat).
A few days later, we returned to the airfield in Resolute, with its runway made of gravel. It had to be plowed and graded before a plane could land. The plane had a proboscis blower, a long narrow tube over the nose and wheels to keep the wheels from seizing up with gravel dust. Then it had to be graded so the plane could take off.
Only a few could be transported away at a time. We had a very specific order. I was driving myself crazy looking at the sheet of paper with our disembarkation orders. So, I pasted them onto my husband's jacket in the form of a luggage tag. While others thought I spent a lot of time gazing and smiling at my husband, well, you know better.
These days, I'm the one wearing a luggage tag. It reads, "Not Yet Vaccinated." I had to think carefully about the wording. I didn't want to appear to be an Anti-Vaxxer, for we need to end the deaths and protect those who cannot have the vaccine. Although, I admit to being afraid of a vaccine that hasn't been through extensive trials and is a "new method" of RNA vaccine.
Plus, I am very Mid-Western American: I like order and don't cut the line. I am willing to wait my turn. However, all this staying home is making me feel very invisible. I have reached the age where no one flirts with me and no one remembers that I passed by.
The military has told me that since I am not old, diseased, or essential to anyone other than my husband, I can anticipate getting my vaccine in September. Walgreen's website says August, after immigrants. End of the line. Last group to be vaccinated. Not necessary to be kept from risk. It's depressing.
Don't e-mail me with advice on how to get it earlier. I am going to wear my mask and my luggage tag and stay far away from all of you. I started wearing a N-99 mask , foggy glasses, and gloves way back in February 2020. Other women my age would denigrate me, as if I was wearing a burka. They made me defend staying safe.
At the time, I fully expected Trump to announce that businesses could remain open, but that we were to do our patriotic duty and stay home for three weeks. I thought he'd use his nationalistic rhetoric to incite us all to wear masks and get this over with. I am disappointed that he did not.
Today, my fear is once the "herd" has been declared achieved, those of us who are waiting will be in serious danger both physically and emotionally. I do not want to suffer the harangues of those who mistake me for not wanting the vaccine. And, as the girl who no one asked to dance and spent three hours watching others having a good time, emotionally, it is going to be horrible to watch everyone out and about, while I'm stuck on the sidelines, waiting.
So, I decided to address the situation by stating loudly that if you are lucky enough to have been vaccinated, then it is your responsibility to protect me from the virus, as your life returns to normal (We really do not know who passes it around). And, if you cut the line, then I promise to make you feel very uncomfortable by my bright blue luggage tag, hanging from my shirt collar. "Not Yet Vaccinated" asking, "Are you the one who jumped the line in front of me?"