I'm on my way to Door County, Wisconsin. And, at the moment I'm waiting in the Detroit airport for a flight to Green Bay. Go Vikings!
Here's something you may not believe. I wouldn't have had I not seen it with my own eyes...the airport here in Motor City is one of the nicest I've ever seen. There are people movers everywhere, so if you're exceptionally lazy, or a hypochondriac, or both, as in my case, you can travel throughout this huge place without actually having to put one foot in front of the other. And, if that's not enough, about 15 feet above the walkway, there's a tram to carry you wherever you want to go. Except it doesn't go to downtown Detroit. I don't think that was such a stupid question to ask, but, sheesh, some people have such an attitude.
My flight from Richmond to Detroit was uneventful, pretty much. It was delayed by about 90 minutes or so, but that's not so bad. Just gives me more chance to sit in a cramped seat with a little seatbelt around me and make small talk with strangers, while I try to keep my mind off of those horror stories of folks who have sat on the runway for hours. I tend to be claustrophobic, so I try not to have any panic attacks on the plane. Sometimes I just have to count from 1 to 1000 loudly in order to keep my mind off the fact that I may suffocate any moment. People seem mesmerized by my counting trick.
As we were fighting some turbulence upon landing I got to looking around the plane and thinking about how many precious lives would be snuffed out if something should happen. There was a beautiful little girl, about 4, sitting on her father's lap. I thought about her, and how she had her life in front of her.
I don't know if you know this or not, but I suffer from a mental disorder known as Acute Sympathy Syndrome. It's been voted the worst disease to abbreviate. I got to worrying about a guy named Michael. No, Michael wasn't on the plane, but his boss was. And the boss was typing a document that I couldn't help but read closely as I sat behind him. Seems Michael is making more than he's worth. He's an accountant, somewhere in Virginia, and he was making $65,000, then all of a sudden the guy's making $95,000. I thought about how proud his wife must be. Little does she know that Michael will probably be getting the boot within a day or two. I worried about Michael and his wife, and his two precious children who look up to him each evening when he comes home and who say, “Hi Daddy. We missed you. Will you carry us on your back.” Pretty soon Michael can spend the entire day carrying the little tykes around on his back.
Then there's this guy next to me, across the aisle. He's the type that as soon as the plane lands, he gets on his cell phone and talks so loudly, you'd think he must think the cell phone is kind of a glorified tin can with a string that you have to yell into. I wasn't feeling sorry for this guy, let's call him Tim, at all, until he said something that bothered me.
“Have you found anything in Florida,” he screamed to someone on the other end of the line. “Something's turned up on my end.”
Ouch, I'm thinking. Is it a tumor? A boil? “It's pretty big,” he says.
Double ouch! Now I can't stop worrying about him.
Then to further complicate things for an Acute Sympathy Sindrome sufferer, as I was walking through this really neat tunnel in the airport (the walls turn colors and cool, mood music plays), I saw three guys with the word DEPUTY emblazoned on the backs of their jackets. I got to thinking how cool it would be if they were transporting a criminal. Then I saw him. The criminal.
But, then I got to feeling sorry for him. Everyone in the whole place was staring at him. How terrible. He was just a young guy. Why do people have to be so cruel? As I was staring at him, he turned and looked at me. “I care,” I mouthed to him, the way Acute Sympathy Syndrome sufferers are wont to do. He flipped me the bird.
So, at least that helped me with my condition. Well, I guess that's enough for now, but I did want to keep you informed. I know you're following my every step with baited breath, and many of you are living your lives vicariously through mine. I'm not sure what that means, but I've always wanted to use the word, “vicariously.” So, there, I've used it. Talk to you later.
No comments:
Post a Comment