The voyages of Pedro Schlemiel (*)

This weekend I came to Chicago, so I bought the ticket no sooner than last tuesday, thus throwing money out of my window and into United Airlines. My flight's at dawn today. Yesterday at midnight, I realize I left my passport in my office (where I did my first taxes ever!). So off I go to Harvard in the middle of the night. Of course, there were people still working, the sorry dudes. I rush out today at 5 am, across the deserted city, but when I get to the airport I have no idea what airline I'm taking. 4 possibilities, in 4 different terminals. I try the first, US airways in terminal B: no flights to chicago. Clock ticking, still half asleep, but aha! a computer! Check email, find terminal, run for 10mins through dowsey lobbies and a nice verandah in the middle of nowhere to terminal C. At passport control, a strange round lady stares at my passport. Then, for some inexplicable reason, starts speaking french to me! (no sign of my life in Paris in my passport!?) She says my name in the passport is longer than that on my ticket, she can't let me through! She's from the maghrebe and clearly doesn't know portuguese names. Plus she's pregnant. Her boss comes over, tells me the woman's "not all there" (crazy?) and lets me through. Barely make it to the plane. Plane barely makes it to chicago, then nearly takes off again at landing. Still, Chicago in the sun actually looks good.

Moral: don't take 7am flights.

(*) é o título de um velho livro da casa dos Avós, sobre um homem que vende a sua sombra ao Diabo. Schlemiel é uma palavra em Yiddish imprescindível e intraduzível. "The schlemiel is the active disseminator of bad luck, and the schlimazl its passive victim. If the schlemiel drops his soup, it lands on the schlimazl."