I once met a guy at a hotel who found himself traveling in a foreign country during every major world event. When the Berlin Wall came down, he was in Japan. When the earthquake hit, he was in Africa. On Sept. 11th, he was in Russia. I was like, “Hey pal. Let me know the next time you leave town…”
I’ve found the same to be true for my family. Every time my parents and brother go somewhere, leaving just me at home, shit goes crazy and people die.
First of all, I hate it when the three of them travel together. God forbid something happen. If our plane is crashing, we’re crashing together. But it seems whenever I’m in charge of the Spotswoods in the Bay Area, all hell breaks loose. The first time my folks took Alex up to Montana to register him for classes, my beloved grandfather, “DA” passed away. It was horrible. Just horrible. And until my father landed at SFO, my god-sister Kate and I were tearfully in charge.
Today, they all leave for New York.
Because my play opens this weekend.
Let me detail what has thus far already gone horribly wrong:
~Our dear friend JoHanna died on Saturday.
~Grandma fell and broke her hip on Tuesday.
~Our dear friend Myrna died last night.
~It’s supposed to rain this weekend, and my play is outdoors.
~And actors are dropping like flies.
I won’t have a day off until late June as it is, but I get to spend next week doing damage control for rain and attending memorial services for people I adored.
Again, Kate and I are tearfully in charge.
Um God, when it rains, it literally pours…