Before I left for India, my in laws suggested I take sleeping pills along for the long plane rides. That's what they do for Hawaii, so my father-in-law prescribed me some generic Ambien. Reading the bottle was slightly worrying, with warnings such as: "Side effects may include doing things in the night you don't remember like getting up, killing people, or having sexual relations with strangers," or something like that. This worried me, but Mike said, "What's the worst you can do? You'll be on a plane."
So on the way over, I took a pill for the Amsterdam to Delhi leg. I don't really remember much about that flight or what I did on it. I just have this vague remembrance of being woken up for food. I remember blurry squares on my tray filled with round things and me holding a fork and trying to figure out how to get the fork to the food and then into my mouth. I had a conversation with my friendly neighbor, but I have no idea what I said to that poor man. Or was it a woman? In the morning, I gazed over at him/her, wondering what might have transpired betwewen us.
Once in India, I took the pills a couple nights to get over jet lag, but I don't think I killed anyone because I was locked in my own room. (But you never do know, do you?)
On the way home from India, I was sick and desperate for sleep. So on the Amsterdam Detroit leg, I took another crazy pill. I couldn't resist. All was going well, I was sleeping like a baby. But then the food came again. It was more blurry boxes with I have no recollection what inside. I was focusing again on the very tricky question of how to get the fork into the food and then somehow into my mouth. I couldn't quite remember where my mouth was.
Then the flight attendant grossly overestimated me. She handed me a glass of orange juice. I was already in the fork/food/mouth dilemma, and this was simply too much for my beslushed brain, so I fumbled and spilled said juice all over the man sitting next to me. I wouldn't remember this except that I have a distinct visual in my head of his right leg with a very large wet blotch and him running for the bathroom.
I don't remember much after that. It was disturbing somehow, so I went to sleep. I don't know that I knew enough to apologize to him. I might have just gazed over at him like a fish, vaguely moving my lips in mock speech.
In the morning, I woke up. The flight attendant offered me more orange juice, and it all came back to me. I realized what had happened and knew that I must make ammends to this man.
I proceeded to apologize profusely to this man, but, to my surprise, when I opened my mouth to speak, only a frog's croak came out. Somehow during my drugged sleep, I'd lost my voice and only the worst croaking sound was left. I didn't know how bad I sounded until this morning. My husband now has Asian bird flu, and in the middle of the night, he apparently advanced to the frog voice part of the illness. He was getting up, and in the worst creaky, crackly, croaky voice I've ever heard, he screeched, "I'm going to another room to sleep," sounding oddly like a 120-year-old witch doctor.
So what must I have sounded like to that poor man, whom I'd already doused in buckets of orange juice and then screeched my profuse apologies at like an old hag? He probably just wanted to run away to the bathroom again. I should have stopped talking at him, but I couldn't, so humiliated with the night's activities and fascinated with my new witch-like voice.
The man was from North Carolina, so he was gracious to me. But let this be a lesson to you before taking crazy pills in a public location.
P.S. Extra friend point for whoever can say the line that follows the quote that is the title of my blog.