I just
love travelling in my new Gulfstream jet. Today was a short flight, but I still
had the caterer stock a light repast for my journey. I thought I might get a rest in the rear
stateroom but there was turbulence that, even strapped in, didn’t allow for a
nap, and so now I sat still seat-belted at my beautiful table set by my
crispy-white uniformed cabin attendants, hoping I could finish my meal before
this journey ended. Belgian linen,
Lalique crystal wine goblets and Picard china graced my in-flight table.
Debussy’s “Le Mer” wafted through a cabin appointed with bespoke matched honey
leather and African zebra wood appointments.
I have so many wonderful memories enjoying the pleasures of private jet
travel. Interrupting my day dream, my
steward Derek advised imminent approach, so I quaffed the rest of my 1972
Pichon Leland Bordeaux and considered the strawberries and Staffordshire cream
finish to my collation. No, time wouldn’t allow justice to this explosion of flavor,
so, instead, I took an apple from the fruit bowl, and sliced it with a Tojuro
Damascus Japanese paring knife, wrapping it in a napkin, placing it in small
padded portfolio, saved for the ensuing ride up to the resort.
We
arrived at the lovely old manse at dusk; sun setting a pageant of color for my
arrival. Not having my nap on the
aircraft, I was eager to get to my suite and get a good night’s sleep.
A
gravel courtyard landscaped by prim privet, manicured fascia before stately
hemlock, greeted my arrival. We entered the venerable old brick structure
through a calming Wren-inspired colonnade
“Bridgewater;” an apt name for this beautiful Chateau and my respite for
a needed fall sojourn. I so looked
forward to the quiet and comfort of this pastoral setting. I feel on the verge
of new experiences. Everyone smiled in greeting. Such a large staff for this
day and age. Immaculate in white formality, yet so inviting. Efficient and
warm, these people; I knew I would enjoy my visit. I was quickly escorted to my suite and
prepared to settle in. Life is so, so
grand.
Two orderlies buzzed back thru entry gates and walked down a marble-floored corridor to the gravel reception car park outside, happy that this was their last run of the day. Bridgewater was one of the nicer facilities they carried to. It had a long history as Massachusetts landmark and wore the patina as a iconic dowager matriarch.
Working
cab crew for the state, both agreed ambulance transport could be a trying job,
especially for those of diminished capacity. In this case their charge, a
delusional serial killer, was sedated and remained calm for the autumn journey
to Bridgewater Institution for the Criminally Insane. Derek had driven and Jim had the job of
monitoring their patient who hummed classical pieces and lolled in his
restraints on the drive down 495 from Boston.
It allowed them time to actually enjoy the fall foliage in the waning
orange light ending a beautiful crisp fall day. An easy trip; this one.
Now,
they looked forward to cleaning up their ambulance, restocking IV kits,
respirator bags, bandage bins, and the like before getting back on the road for
the dead-head back to the vehicle facility in Boston where they would drop the
rig and set off for some semblance of personal life.
They
chose to do their set-up here so that, upon reaching their drop, they could
just lock up and head right home, knowing the following day their rig would be
ready to go for whatever assignment they drew.
As
Derek finished paperwork in the upfront cab, Jim was finishing changing the
gurney linens. He called out to Derek,
“Did you have your lunch back here earlier?”
Derek
responded, “No, you know I don’t bring any food on runs, it just complicates
clean-up. Why do you ask?”
“Strange,
then, Derek, because I just found apple slices wrapped in a surgical towel
stuffed into the pillowcase on this Gurney.”
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