I just returned from the foreign land of Tennessee, and that entailed four flights -- from Providence to Detroit and then on to Knoxville, and then the same trip in reverse. The entire traveling experience is always fascinating, and there is probably no better people watching opportunity than being in a big airport. There are always sports teams. I saw some amazingly tall female college basketball players, young, fresh-faced, intense, in uniform...perhaps they were in a hurry to catch their flight. A female body builder strutted her stuff in a short, tight dress in Knoxville, people turning to stare. A well-dressed woman stops in the "walk" lane (which actually means the "run" lane) of the people mover in Detroit's McNamara terminal, to sneeze, blow her nose and tie her shoe, causing a pile up of travelers and luggage behind her. She seems oblivious to the "stand" lane to her right and glares at the muttering, rushing crowd trying to pass her.
Of course, the actual flight is the most entertaining and as anyone who has flown knows, you're up close and personal with the people seated next to you. First flight from Providence to Detroit: I had the pleasure of sitting next to a woman, some years my senior, who as it turned out was a psychologist who works about a mile away from my office. She was intelligent, conversant, socially adept and the trip went by too fast. We exchanged cards. Second flight from Detroit to Knoxville: I had a window seat and the woman sitting next to me was not so friendly, with her nose in a book and nary a sideways glance. I read my own book.
On the way home, on the first flight, I was next to a forty-something year old woman, who I guessed was a business traveler. She spent the entire hour and a half working on her laptop, serious and seemingly in her own world, rather curt to the flight attendants. I was again next to the window and turned my head away from her direction. After getting a grand workout in Detroit, lugging my bags for what seemed like five miles, I board for the final leg of the trip, back to Providence. This time I am stuck in the middle -- never a good place to be in any circumstance. To my right sits a young woman, maybe twenty, pretty but with an anxious countenance. As I settle in my seat she offers barely a wan smile and I immediately notice she has her in-ear headphones on and is clutching her iPhone and know there will be absolutely no conversation with her. Passengers stream on by and I observe several men who look like cowboys, boots and hats and western shirts, some families with babies, Even though I am heading to Rhode Island, I don't see anyone I know, which is unusual. As I begin to think that perhaps the aisle seat won't be filled and I can move a seat away from the girl and have some space, a tall gent who could pass from Kramer on Seinfeld spends an inordinate amount of time trying to stuff his luggage in the overhead compartment and then flops in the aisle seat. He greets me heartily, and then apologizes as he procures an enormous paper bag and empties the contents on the seat tray -- a greasy cardboard to-go container loaded with fish and chips, cole slaw, tartar sauce. He offers me some and I decline. He inhales his dinner in about two minutes, crumples up the bag with its contents and stuffs it into the overhead compartment. He then buckles in and starts sprawling, arm on my seat rest, right leg in my space. I start moving toward the girl and she looks out the window. In flight, he wants beer and wine and is surprised to find out he has to pay for it. He skips the booze, takes a juice and when pretzels, cookies or peanuts are offered by the pretty flight attendant, he takes one of each. She has a French accent and they converse and he reveals he is from Toronto. My annoyance turns into sympathy (well, not much sympathy, but less annoyed) and I surmise he doesn't travel much or maybe they do things different in Canada. Do they serve free booze there?
We make it to Providence and taxi to the terminal. While passengers collect their baggage and impatiently await the door to open to let us escape, it is fairly quiet save for a female voice with a southern accent somewhere in front of me, loudly crowing about her four million dollar deal, how they have now sold over eight million dollars (of what, unclear) and how "one of "y'all are going to Paris". The voice grew louder, more animated and I started looking carefully at the passengers to see who the chest-thumping voice belonged to. Naturally, it was emanating from someone on a cell phone, a billowy blonde who finally exited the plane, still yelling into the phone about her sales prowess.
I'm finally off the crazy plane.
