Cowskulls Across America
The ordeal undertaken to salvage a cowskull it from its nasty owner at the flea market is, to me, worth writing about.
My first week in Albuquerque I went to the flea market in search of said skull. I came across a vendor named Dennis, who told me if I bought him a slice of pizza and a Coke, he'd consider negotiating with me. He also told me I had a beautiful mouth; nice thick lips he said. I told him that I was a New Yorker, and that that b.s. just wouldn't fly -- negotiating is what I get paid for in real life -- and I wasn't about to let him think I'd cave in.
Or so I thought.
I went over to the stand and bought Dennis a slice and a Coke, then told him I'd be back. I went back a half-hour later, and Dennis pulls out this notebook of possible prices he could give me. What he didn't realize was that I could read upside down (no, not like I'm hanging from the monkey bars) and read his prices. He told me his price, I told him no, and left. The following weekend I went back to the flea market, knowing that Dennis may not be there. But he was, only he wasn't selling the cow skulls this time. His boss was. I figured it wasn't worth my effort, but since the negotiating is in my blood, I had to do it. The boss wouldn't budge. Five times I left and went back to him, and he wouldn't give in. I'm sure Dennis was highly amused by all of this, especially since he scammed me into buying him a slice.
Frustrated and annoyed, I left this vendor and went to find the skull elsewhere. It was the end of the day, and I was tired. We stumbled upon a lady who had 5 skulls out on a blanket. I waved a $20 in front of her face, telling her that that was all I had left. She wanted $40, but took my $20, gave me the skull, and I left.
The skull is very fragile, and I couldn't risk packing it up and having some mail service toss it around on the truck or throw it into the plane. This meant that I'd have to carry it with me when I made the trip back.
With my suitcase jammed with knick-knacks and cowboy boots, all I had to stuff it in was a white plastic garbage bag. Imagine the surprise of the airline personnel when I put it on the conveyor by the metal detector. Of course, everyone who was in line behind me had boxes and bags that smashed up against my skull, but it didn't harm the poor thing. I decided that this skull had to make the trip with me, up close and personal, so I may as well have fun with it. When I boarded the plane, I told the stewardess that I had a special guest with me, and did she have a comfy place I could put it. She told me no, that the skull would have to go in the overhead compartment. I said okay, but not before I spoke to the skull and told it to say hello to the pilot, but the skull just wasn't in a talkative mood. Then I went to find my seat, and carefully placed the skull in the compartment, grabbing blankets and pillows to pad around the sides of the skull so it didn't get a skull fracture en route.
The plane began to taxi to the runway, so I took my seat and waited for takeoff. After a burst of speed, the plane began to lift off. Then it felt as though someone jammed on the brakes. The plane touched back down onto the tarmac, and we were told there were problems, and we'd have to de-plane. So back up I go into the compartment to retrieve my pet. Some of my fellow passengers looked at me as if I were the person who killed the cow. But I just smiled and took the skull to the nearest comfy seat in the airport.
After an hour of waiting in Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, and some people asking me what the horns were sticking out of the plastic bag, it was back on the plane. Some of the people who were on the original flight had decided to change to another carrier. Once again I made the bed-like space for my pet in the overhead compartment. An older gentleman was heading my way, and ended up being seated across from me. But there was no room in the compartment above him, so he reached up to put his oversized bag into the one above me. I jumped out of my seat, offering to help him. He refused my offer, and stuffed his bag in. I just stood there with my mouth open. I envisioned pieces of bone cracking off, and could swear I heard crunching noises. I slumped back into my seat, upset that there was no other protective place for my pet on the plane.
When the plane finally landed at LaGuardia, I waited for the older gentleman to remove his bag. I figured I'd wait until the plane was emptied, and then I'd have a moment of silence with my pet. All this travelling, all this pursuing, all this caretaking, and for what? To finally get the skull only to have it crushed by someone else, right in front of me. I reached up into the compartment, choking back my anger, swallowing hard, trying to maintain a stiff upper lip. I wrapped my hands around the horns, and pulled it down out of its tomb. Shaking the bag, I didn't hear anything, just the sound of the bag. I left the plane, with cow in tow, and headed to baggage claim. NYC is not always nasty. Sometimes it could muster up a smile or two on special occasions, like if the Pope visits, or the Rangers win the Stanley Cup. Not tonight. Push. Pushy. Pushy. Shove. Kick. Elbow. Bags bounced off of my kneecaps, hit my arms, smashed into the horns of the skull. At this point, I was ready to punch someone if anything happened to the skull here. Finally finding my bag, I get in the car for the trip into the city. The skull safe and snug next to me, I think about the ordeal of buying it and getting it back in one piece.
The cab pulls up in front of my building, and I hop out. Not happy to be back in NYC, but hasty in order to get the skull in the apartment unharmed. So, camera bag over one shoulder, powerbook/bag on the other, huge suitcase in one hand and grasping tightly to the bag with the skull, I open the door and go up the steps of my brownstone.