People on holiday say the darnedest things.
I'm sure that, in their real world, these people are well-adjusted and intelligent.
But, for some reason, when they leave home, they leave something else behind as well.
I've heard people say such gems as, “Excuse me, guide? How do you get all of the flags on the compound wall to fly in the same direction?”
And, “The sign says 'No Admittance'. Is that for you? Or us?”
And my personal favourite, “How much of these caves are actually underground?”
They make a great holiday just that much more entertaining.
For example . . .
My Husby was at a conference in Washington, D.C.
I went along.
When he wasn't attending meetings, we explored the city and had a wonderful time.
On one free afternoon, we decided to take a tour of the White House.
With a large group of fellow tourists, we were directed to a relatively unimportant door somewhere in the rear of the building.
Then guided, in a orderly manner through the building; under the constant scrutiny of a number of Secret Service agents - each of whom looked very Secret Service-ish.
We felt as if we were in a movie.
The place was beautiful.
We saw state rooms and bed rooms.
Assembly halls and offices.
Dining rooms and ball rooms.
All were heavy with the feeling of profound . . . History.
Our guide gave us a large dollop of it as she directed us from room to room.
My Husby is an historian. We have spent our married life immersed in things historical.
We couldn't have been happier.
Finally, regretfully, our tour drew to a close.
We were led to the door under the famous portico and released to the outside world.
Immediately past the door was yet another secret service agent, dark glasses keeping a careful watch on . . . everyone.
One of the guests hurried over to him.”Excuse me, agent?” she asked.
He turned toward her. “Yes, Ma'am?” he said in a colourless voice.
You know, I've always wondered what a colourless voice was.
Now I know.
It has absolutely no inflection.
Soo . . . no colour.
Or maybe F.B.I.
Back to my story.
“This door . . . where we are . . . that is the front of the White House, correct?”
“So the other side. That would be the back, right?”
I admire these agents. They must have to take special training just to deal with the questions they may be asked at any given moment.
His face didn't even twitch. “Yes, Ma'am,” he said as soberly as if she had just asked him the time.
My Husby, on the other hand, was totally unprepared for her question.
He burst into laughter.
I quickly pulled him away to the lawn. “Hush!” I said.
Really. That's what I said.
But he wouldn't.
Hush, I mean.
Some people are so unruly.
“No, that would be the roof,” he whispered to me.
I started towing him across the lawn.
“No, wait. Maybe it's the basement!”
I towed harder.
We really did enjoy our trip to Washington, D.C.
And the tourists.