Kinsler: Dealing with the remnants of a high school reunion trip and Chinese food
Natalie had everything packed up and ready before I knew we were going on a two-day trip to Pittsburgh. “I told you we were going,” said she, “And you’ll live through it.”
There was no other strategy than to blindly obey, and shortly thereafter we were headed down Interstate 70 toward her western Pennsylvania homeland, finally fetching up at a pleasant hotel that holds forth on Neville Island in the middle of the Ohio River. Neville Island is totally industrialized, with coke ovens, oil refineries, and the occasional blast furnace completing the verdant scenery.
Our purpose was to attend a Catholic girls’ high school reunion, a high school from which Natalie graduated in 1965 and then taught math therein until it was shut down in 1978. All former students were invited, and my calculations indicate that the youngest was 63 years old.
They were neither reserved nor quiet. Each was given a badge emblazoned with her name and graduation picture. Two by two, they would confront each other. “You look familiar,” one would venture. Then an examination of each other’s badge picture, a pause while memories were refreshed and years calculated, and finally the shriek of recognition and an embrace.
There were some 200 women present, and the reader is invited to calculate, in decibels or N/m^2, the total sound volume. A few hours of this rendered poor Natalie approximately voiceless, for she was revered as both a teacher and student there. I was left to contemplate how I’d have been received at my own high school, occasions which I’ve scrupulously avoided.
But Natalie was in her element, working the crowd like she was running for president, ignoring nobody and ready with a good word or remembrance for everyone. There was nothing for me to do but watch her, but that was sufficiently amusing.
After three hours she finally announced the campaign’s conclusion, gathered up various brochures plus the school T-shirt she’d purchased and headed for the exit. I sat down to wait for us to truly leave, a wait which I knew would take at least 45 minutes during which she’d spread her ministry to a few more of her adoring colleagues.
On our way to a second hotel (explanations may be solicited from Natalie) we decided a Chinese restaurant might be suitable for a light dinner. On the recommendation of some website, we found a small, mostly take-out establishment nearby. Over a shared serving of chicken with Chinese vegetables we watched the family’s kids play; the restaurant was clearly their playground, and we both approved.
It was maybe 7 p.m. when we staggered up to our hotel room, and I knew nothing until something woke me at 10:30 p.m. Natalie was wrapped like a mummy and approximately as responsive over on her side of the huge bed. Semi-conscious, I lurched around our room trying to make sense of the situation when I thought of monosodium glutamate (aka MSG) with which the restaurant must have added to everything they cooked.
The pair of us shared an authentic non-alcoholic hangover the next morning. Taking full advantage of the hotel’s noon check-time to drape ourselves over the furniture and moan, we managed to recover sufficiently to drive home.
Mark Kinsler, kinsler33@gmail.com, is currently recovering with Natalie at the Southern Ohio Institute for the Elderly and Chemically Besotted. The two nurses here are, in fact, striped alley cats who wouldn’t mind being fed.
This article originally appeared on Lancaster Eagle-Gazette: Kinsler: Another gasoline-fueled adventure
