I couldn’t even find an escape in a nap on the relatively short flight because of the constant washroom trips of the woman in the window seat. About the fourth of five times she offered an apology in the form of a quick explanation by whispering, “UTI.” I didn’t know what she meant, but it sounded awful and I found complete and sudden compassion for her, even though she would not trade seats with me because she didn’t want to give up the window. And so I was in a bad mood when we landed at National Airport, though, as was my wont, I did not let on to Maggie. One might ask then what was the point of the bad mood, and I can only answer, the satisfaction of personal suffering. The cab driver kept craning to glance back at me in his mirror. “I know you,” he said. “Are you from Nigeria?” “No.” “I know you. You look like that Sidney Poitier.” “I hear that. Thank you.” “You are not him, are you?” “I’m not him, no.” “Where are you from? You look Nigerian.”
What do You think about I Am Not Sidney Poitier (2010)?
