Last month I was in New York, on the trip with the Joisey people I blogged about before. The flight back was very nearly as full as the flight out. Again, I was in the next to last row on the aisle. I looked forward on the plane and there was a little lady wearing a nun’s habit standing on a seat, punching her luggage into the overhead bin. I was quite struck by the image, but then she sat down and we took off. I almost forgot about the little nun. When I got to O’Hare, I went up to the Departures level to get picked up (only suckers get picked up at Arrivals) and waited for L.
Suddenly the little nun came flying out the doors. She whipped out a mobile phone and started jabbering frantically in an undetermined foreign language. She looked agitated. I almost asked her if she needed anything. Then she whipped a rosary out of her other pocket and started fingering the beads and mumbling. I decided I would not disturb a praying nun.
As if on cue, a car came flying by. I could see that there was another nun driving. She slammed on the brakes and jerked the car over to the curb about 50 yards down from us. The nun standing near me grabbed her bag on the run, hauled ass down to car and jumped in at a dead run. The car then peeled away and was gone into the night. I told L that the pick up seemed to well rehearsed that I thought the nuns either were practicing to go to, or had come from one of those places that jails people for being Catholic.