Somehow Fred managed to push my flight back by seven days and he sent a Telex to my boss to let him know I wasn’t going to make it back for another week.
And I spent the entire week in bed, sleeping more often than not. When the week was up, I boarded a small plain bound for Rome. There were five others on the flight and they each looked they could have been line backers for the Chicago Bulls. Oh yea, there was a crate of chickens in the last row!
By the time I landed in New York it was very early the next morning. While passing through customs the very young green customs agent asked me what my carry on baggage was made of.
I was exhausted from the 16 hour travel ordeal and answered very abruptly “Snake!”
“You don’t have to be rude.” the agent uttered as he shoved it back at me.
I was feeling very weak and knew I had a fairly impressive fever brewing, but truly was no excuse to be short with him, although I was quite delirious.
I called my boss just before boarding and woke him up without even considering the time difference. He agreed to meet me at SFO and take me back to Hayward to pick up my company car.
