The New M.E. Generation

We are all standing in an Indian-style line, pretty close to one another and with just a little bit of room, about less than six degrees of separation. I’m wondering what’s happening next when the coordinator answers that question.

“OK, take another step to your right and get closer to one another even more!” Maybe if I had kept that thought to myself this second squeeze wouldn’t have happened.

I hadn’t paid attention to who was standing behind me until we got really tight, and felt a bulk between my legs, something that I had not experienced since my break-up.

I slowly turned my head to the right to get a glimpse of the guy behind me. I see a tall dude with piercing blue eyes and a goatee on his face, sporting a bandana on his head and a tan darker than a roasted ‘lechon’ (pig) on Xmas Eve, with a big smile as if Santa Claus had just gotten to town.

He looked like, hum, like, hum, can’t quite figure it out…

“What’s your name sweetie?” he asked me.
“Ah, Emma…”
“Nice to meet you. The call me Pirate!”

You don’t say!

So what’s is he going to tell me next? Probably something like, ‘how about going back to my ship, I mean room, and bringing down the house? Aargh!’

I looked forward again and only one word came to my mind: ‘Help!!’

All I could do at that moment was stand there and ask myself what was I doing here. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable and couldn’t wait for this toast thing to be over.

But wait, there’s more!

One more thing is pending before I can walk off the plank.

et cetera