360 Degrees Longitude by John Higham Page A

could cover the cost of fuel. Taxis in Poland became a habit, even though, much to my chagrin, disco was the genre of choice for four out of five cab drivers surveyed.
    We came to Krakow for the sole purpose of visiting Auschwitz, but stayed longer than planned because we really liked it. Krakow was everything Prague was not. It was clean, it was a manageable size, and you could buy a train ticket without having to stand in the information line, followed by the reservation line, and then the purchasing line. Krakow was also teeming with just the kind of history that we wanted the kids to see.
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    â€œIt’s bloody hot,” I complained. Europe was in the grip of a heat wave, and we were preparing to go out. “I’m going to have to hand wash this shirt before we go. It’ll feel nice to put it on damp, though.”
    â€œWhat happened to your other short-sleeved shirt?” September responded.
    â€œIt’s in Zermatt with the tandems. I figured if we weren’t cycling I wouldn’t need it, so I left it with the other camping and cycling gear.”
    September gave me the same look of feigned patience she gave Jordan when she was trying to teach him the multiplication tables. “Well, we’ll have to get you another one then. We need to divide and conquer. I’ll look into getting a wheelchair with the kids.” She gave me a stern look. “You go buy yourself a short-sleeved shirt. Get a pair of shorts as well.”
    â€œCan’t I get you to pick me up a shirt and a pair of shorts?” I asked. “Most wives prefer to pick out their husband’s wardrobes.”
    â€œBe brave. You can do this.”
    â€œWhat if I just ordered some stuff from Lands’ End and had it sent with our next box of books?”
    â€œWe haven’t received our first box of books yet.”
    I was defeated. “We will meet you back here in a couple of hours,” September said, as she and the kids disappeared out the door of our hostel.
    I proceeded down the street and walked into the first department-looking store I saw. On one of the upper levels I found some men’s clothes on clearance. I picked out a shirt and a pair of shorts, tried them on, and purchased them. Victorious, I went back to the hostel, donned my new stylish threads, and waited for September and the kids.
    An hour or so later I could hear them coming. They were still across the street, but the traffic was not enough to drown Jordan’s voice in his excited state.
    â€œDo you think Dad’s back? Can I tell him? He’ll be so surprised!” The door to our hostel room burst open. Two simultaneous conversations started up immediately.
    Jordan was saying, “Guess what we saw? You’ll never guess!”
    September wasn’t actually saying anything, at least not yet. She just stared at me, slack jawed, for several moments. Then, ignoring the fact that Jordan was playing twenty questions with me, she said, “You bought that just to get back at me.”
    I was confused. “What?”
    Jordan said, “I want you to guess!”
    September said, “That shirt. It is the ugliest shirt on the planet. You bought it to get back at me for not shopping for you.”
    I replied, “I wouldn’t do that. Okay, maybe I would, but I didn’t. It was on sale and it looked decent enough. What’s wrong with it?”
    â€œDad! You aren’t guessing!”
    September explained, “It looks like… well, it looks like you work for some drive-up hamburger joint in the Midwest. It looks like a uniform for Bill’s Burger Barn. Where’s your name tag?”
    Jordan was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Dad! You’re not guessing!”
    I decided that September was not a professional fashion critic. The shirt was a huge step up from a simple T-shirt. It was tan with navy blue sleeves and had buttons and even a collar. But I needed to