I returned home from my stay in England to find a professional volleyball player living in our basement. No one even told me, actually. I just walked down to fetch a toy or cd or book or something from our family room, and over on the east side was a cot and someone's personal belongings. Then it hit me that there was actually a person standing there. It was strange--she seemed to kind of appear out of the background, sort of like you'd expect a chameleon to appear. I introduced myself, and she did the same. Her name was Gabby or something like that. As it turned out, that was her last day staying with our family. She was leaving for home that afternoon.

We got her to the airport where she saw a few friends of hers at the gate. They got to talking, so my mom and Monica and I left her for a while to go get something to eat. After a while, we decided that we should go back to Gabby for our last goodbyes.

As we walked down the aisle to her waiting area, we realized that there was a canal between our walkway and the place where she was standing. My mom said that the only solution was to hail a ferry. Several of them passed, not even acknowledging our existence. Finally, one stopped. It was a double-decker boat, and best of all, the driver was the Italian-ish guy from the pizza place here at Lancaster.

We started to get into the main level seating, but he stopped us and said that we'd have to ride in the lower level--in the crawlspace between the floor of the main level and the bottom of the boat. Oddly enough, we didn't argue or anything; we just crawled on in. Monica happened to be holding a sandwich that the three of us were going to split (it was a footlong hamburger; the sandwich was shaped like a sub sandwich), and as we crawled in, she accidentally dropped the bottom piece of the bun. My mom hollared back to the driver "Sir, we accidentally lost part of our sandwich." He looked in and said "No, is okay, I found it, is very good." He found our sub-bun and was eating it! Then he shut the hatch...

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