When I get a ‘ping’ to fetch people from a hotel, especially in Fashion Island, Newport Beach, I know it’s a trip to see John Wayne in all his iron fantasy in Terminal #A.
The Islands Hotel has a limited entry way. The first man, John, came out very fast and leaned down by the passenger window.
“Don will be here in a moment. Don’t know what’s taking him so long?”
John started to get into the passenger seat, then jumped out.
“He should be here by now. I wonder . . . ”
I could see pal Don coming down the driveway, dragging two luggage pieces.
“Oh, my God. I forgot my luggage,” John jumped out. I opened the rear boot door, got the luggage and men into my car, then started toward John Wayne Airport.
“You’d be better after having a beer or something,” Don said
“Yup. What a couple of pals here, suffering from two hangovers, we have,” added John.
I tried to change the subject. Many times, I’ve thought I should have aspirin or a cool beer to tame the wild, hairy dogs of morning-after withdrawal on Sunday morning Ubers.
“What airline are you taking?”
“We’re going to Salt Lake City, yes we are.”
“Oh, Salt Lake. What airline?”
Without missing a beat: “Excuse us, Ma’m. Do you have a moment to talk about Jesus Christ?”
This is new.
“You’re not wearing white shirts! Where are your badges?“ Then, I remembered the show. I sang, the first few bars of “I Believe . . . I am Mormon! . . . ”
“No, we have heard about it.” They even talked in unison.
“You must be the only Mormons who haven’t seen the show.”
“Oh, we’re not Mormon.” The boys again in unison, sounded like a mini-Tabernacle choir.
“I thought so. With hangovers . . . “
“Good clue. We’re the only two residents of Salt Lake who are not LDS. Most definitely not.”
“Except for cousin Josh,” Rob added.
“He never was, even before he turned 13,” said John.
I like to think that life is better for that Utah state, now that the two have returned to Salt Lake City.