The Airport Chauffeur
It was late February, 1998. My sister Felicia and Adam (her then boyfriend, now husband) were returning from a trip. I had promised to pick them up at San Francisco International Airport. I was going to shave off my mustache and beard anyway, so why not dress up as a chauffeur and play with their minds? Rose, new wife, was the photographer.
1. Here's the outfit: my mother-in-law's wig and glasses, my father-in-law's vest, and my beard shaved (with my mustache left wide and ragged). I'm sure they'll never recognize me.
2. I stake out a spot close enough to where they'll be exiting that I'm sure they can't get out without me spotting them.
3. People are beginning to exit the plane. I stand, hunch my back to appear shorter than I am, and hoist my sign (which has their last name intentionall mis-spelled.
4. As Felicia gets close to me I block her way, and with a very poor accent explain that her brother couldn't make it but hired me to pick them up. I made sure to mumble, keep my gaze down, and generally creep her out. It works. Slowly it dawns on her that this is just too wierd. She sees through my disguise. At least I didn't laugh while my charade was going on.
5. Once the joke is up, Felicia is confident, and explains what's going on to Adam. Look at that face: relief after tension.
6. This is my trophy photo; capture the moment forever.
7. And another. My sister is a good sport.
8. I still have a job to do. I carry her to the car (or at least a few feet).
9. The mug shot you might have seen in a post office somewhere, had Felicia called for airport security :-)
I hope you enjoyed this jape. Next time you arrive at an airport, it may very well be me holding up that sign....
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