I was very surprised. I was shocked, actually. I wanted him to pick his nose, and I wanted him to pick his nose badly. Considering I spend countless breaths a day telling Fina to stop picking her nose, and last fall, I was constantly telling my brother he should remove his sausage fingers from his nostrils as well, it's odd that I would desire such a thing. But you see, this man had a whistle booger. We have all had one at some point or another, wizzing with each inhale and whistling with each exhale. It's an awkward situation for everyone, including the Whistle Boogler themself. However, some elements take the awkwardness of a whistle booger to the next uncomfortable level. This is precisely what happened, and how my journey to Prague began.
Initially, the plan was that I would be driven to Ceske Budejovice bus station, where I would grab a bus to Prague to meet my dear German friend André (you must stress the "e"-- apparently) Yet, I forget the fact that I no longer am in control of my life, but at the mercy of others. I was informed that to my advantage, a colleague from the family company was spending the night, and returning to Prague the next morning, and ta-da, would be taking me as well. His name was Petr... Happy. Yes, Petr Happy (well his name meant "happy" in Czech, and I was introduced to him as "Happy" haha). Mr. Happy Petr was kind enough to take me to Prague for free, so I feel I shouldn't bash or insult him too much, but he wasn't exactly what I would call a "warm, friendly guy."
Quite the opposite, he was a bit frigid. His face seemed to lack any ability of emotional contortion. This man didn't crack so much as a smile (he should really consider being one of those guards that stand outside palaces) His small, sharp facial features were an extension of his demeanor. The radio was on but the volume was so low that I could barely decifer the words about Rihanna's Umbrella. I tried to fill the silence of his Skoda with some friendly banter, asking him questions about himself, which were answered in a military type way. He looked straight ahead, and in a monotone voice, politely answered.
Luckily, I am not so opposed to silence, especially in the morning, and especially with someone as flavorless as Mr. Not-so-Happy. I figured if he wanted to talk, then he could break the silence, and he did, just not vocally. Around 30 minutes into the drive I took notice of the tune he was respiratin'. When you become aware of a noise like that, and are in a silent car with an unresponsive stranger, and the music is barely audible, it becomes the only sound you can hear like someone put it in stereo. And this must be true, because after a few minutes, I could tell he noticed his whistle booger, too.
At first, he made a few brief snorts to perhaps reposition the booger, in hopes of ceasing the whistling. Obstinate booger. Secondly, he pawed at the outside of his nose back and forth, desperately wanting to pick it I'm sure. This did nothing. He began breathing out of his mouth, and this solved the whistle booger conundrum for a while. Yet minutes later he forgot and fell back into his nasal breathing. The fact that I knew it was embarassing and annoying him nearly made me laugh aloud. I tried to give him opportunities to pick it. I would turn and intently gaze out the window, or close my eyes and lay my head back. He didn't take those chances to ammend the clarinet-like sounds sung by his partially blocked nasal passage.
At one point, I really did fall asleep, and when I woke up, the whistle booger had vanished. I figured the drive couldn't get much more awkward so I proceeded to apply make-up for 30 minutes. I heavily consider using the teeth whitening-stripes I had shouved in my back pockets as I ran out the door, but decided against it. When we finally did arrive in Prague, he said, "You must get out quickly because I am not allowed to be parked here." And I felt his mental foot pushing me out of the car. I franctically thanked him and fell out of the car as fast as I could. My scarf tumbled to the dirty street as he abruptly drove-off, leaving me in his exhaust fumes desperately clinging to my coat and bag, trying not to drop them as well. I stood there for a moment feeling slightly abandoned and frantically looking around. I noticed two men were starring at me and their eyes screamed "foreigner!" and my eyes retorted, "STEP OFF BIYATCH!"
I suppose the important thing is I survived the journey to Prague.... Happy, whistle booger and all!
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