From some guy who writes for some paper comes this harrowing tale of semi-public transportation along the South American highways—what happens when, in a shared minivan, a little boy says, “Mommy, I’m going to throw up.”
Mom groggily tried to roll down the half-open window, but rolled it up instead. In the nick of time, she got it right, stuck her son’s head out the window, and he did his thing. The only problem was, he was ill-positioned and the wind brought a thin mist back through the window.
I was sure the driver would stop the car; in fact, I thought he would have stopped it when he first heard the kid. But he didn’t cringe, or even say an “Is everyone O.K.?” let alone stop the car. The mom didn’t apologize to him for the coat of vomit now on the side of the car, or to me for the light spritz on my cheek and shoulder.
So it goes. I think we’ve all been that traveler, that child, and even that Mom (so to speak).