The Wright Stuff

An eerie electrical storm ionized the atmosphere over Atlanta that night causing a very strange thing to happen…

Orville and Wilbur Wright stood in the Security Line at Hartsfield Jackson International Airport. Both held their shoes in their hands and gagged at the smell of the feet of the traveler in front of them .  “Where are we, Wiiiiilllll–bur?” Orville’s voice raised an octave as the TSA agent groped him.  Both men had somehow ended up in the 21st century and now had to suffer at the hands of their creation.  “Are we in Hell?”

“No,” said the traveler in front of them, “But you have to go through Atlanta to get there.”

Wilbur winced as the machine screamed. His  pocket watch had set off the metal detector.  The agent waved the strangely dressed men on. He had to search a suspicious grandmother.

Both men’s heads swiveled around while they were traveling down the moving sidewalk. A salesman from Sacramento had nearly knocked Orville down because he was standing on the right side.  “Don’t make me ride that scary train again, Wilber,” Orville whimpered. They had to get off when Orville started screaming like a little girl.

Both finally got to the C concourse and carried their bags up to the gate that read FLIGHT 1, KITTY HAWK.  “You will have to check that bag, sir.” A exhausted looking gate agent pointed at their duffel bag.  Both men looked at each other. “But they told us that they were going to charge us $50!” Orville protested. The annual salary of a schoolteacher in 1903 was $358.  The Wright Brothers were bike mechanics and didn’t have $50.

Wilbur had wandered over to the window with eyes as large as saucers.  Giant white birds leapt off the ground right in front of his eyes.  Each rose majestically into the air and disappeared.  Orville, still holding the duffel bag, stood next to his older brother with his jaw dropped. Son of a Wright Flyer.  What an amazing sight.

“We did this?” Orville said aloud as they boarded. “Our invention allows man to travel comfortably over the clouds?”  Orville had spoken too soon.  A portly man shoved his large bag in the overhead bin and sat in between them talking on his cellphone in a voice that could be heard three planes away.

A kid across the isle spoke loudly, “Mommy, those are the Wright Brothers.”  The mom, scared of flying and on her third small airplane bottle of bourbon, looked at the two men and rubbed her eyes.

Orville and Wilbur Wright smiled at her and looked out the window. The two men in 1903 clothing flew home that night in total awe.  To them, a routine commuter flight was nothing less than the Wright Stuff.