Sights From The Airport

Fred and Jan get ready for the flight.

Well, I’m back in New York for the Jewish holidays, but regrettably, I did not have time to do a flight blog because actual work deadlines necessitated that I do real writing on the plane. That’s okay though. You didn’t really miss much — you know, beyond the wretched toddler that screamed like a demon THE WHOLE WAY. And did the parents ever sternly tell their awful child to be quiet? No. Instead, they just softly patted him on the back and kissed his forehead. TERRIBLE. Needless to say, these parents were the recipients of many passive-aggressive stares, and not just by me. A good portion of the people around me did the whole turn-around-and-glare thing too. I felt empowered.

The highlight of the trip, however, happened at Los Angeles International Airport. I once again found myself sitting at a cluster of chairs, but unlike Thanksgiving when I hobnobbed with the likes of Ian Somerhalder at gate 47B, this time my chair island consisted of me and two people who were, well, NOT very Hollywood. You know the type — bitter, clinging to their guns and religion and whatnot. Anyway, these two were certainly a sight. The guy was tall and fat — probably about 6’3″, 270 lbs — and he wore a big, sagging tank-top that showed entirely too much old-man flab. As for his suspenders, well, I only have one word for you: stars-and-stripes. His wife was almost better. She sported one of those prim, farmer’s wife haircuts — short, simple, and about twenty years too old for her. Even better though, her shirt was brand new and said in big, bold letters, “Deal or No Deal.” That’s right. These two had clearly spent their vacation hangin’ with Howie Mandel, the banker, and the rest of Middle America at a taping of D.O.N.D. (that’s what we cool people call it). All in all, it was kind of the perfect touch.
As you can imagine, I immediately put on my invisible elitist visor and scoffed internally at this couple’s overwhelming hick-ness. Silly people. Couldn’t they just try be more urbane?? I mean, the tank top — it was just inexcusable. If you had seen all the flesh hanging off this guy’s arms… Hairy flesh no less. Yes, my disdain was at remarkably high levels. Hence, I snuck a photo with my cell phone to share the the sight with you all.
But then I started to ponder something: why were these people flying to New York? They clearly were Los Angeles tourists; so did this mean they came from the tri-state area? No, that couldn’t have been right. They looked like they came from, I don’t know, a pig farm in rural who-knows-where-ville. Something was amiss. I turned around to take another glimpse of the two, and then something horrifying happened. I discovered the guy in the tank top was reading a magazine. And no, it wasn’t Fly Fishing Quarterly. It was… THE ECONOMIST!!! Wha-wha-whaaa??? How could this be? My entire world view was immediately rocked. Would the wife pull out The New Yorker next? I just couldn’t process what I was seeing. Was it possible that I had been making inaccurate snap judgments? No. THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN. Or at least, I thought it didn’t happen. I just don’t know anymore… My universe has collapsed. Color me one part humbled, two parts confused, and three parts fascinated.