Monday, November 22, 2010


Well folks, today's post finds me somewhere in Finsbury, Greater London, listening to random people hack up lungs as they wake up. Somehow, I thought that moving across the world would get me away from listening to the morning coughing of my neighbors, but they obviously figured out where I was staying and followed me along.

I'm in London, of course, because I love moving.1 Moving is one of my favorite things in life. When else do you get the chance to try to sleep in a chair the size of a grapefruit next to a man roughly the size of a hungry hippopotamus?2 I'm pretty sure, given his stature, there was not a moment during that eight hour flight wherein we were not touching. This was, of course, utterly delightful. Though I don't really blame him for the fact that just by virtue of his sitting next to me, he occupied the entire arm rest without nary an effort on his part. The battle was lost before it began.

I also love moving because it's fun to try to walk in airports occupied solely by individuals moving at a rates somewhere south of lumbering rhinoceroses. If I weren't a lazy man, and hadn't woken up at two, three, three thirty, three forty, etc., trying to overcome jet lag, I would draw a little graph on how the average speed approaches zero as you increase the number of people walking down Chicago O'Hare's terminal C.

Along those lines, let me provide some of O'Hare's terminal walkers some advice: walk into me. Please ignore my walking trajectory, thereby forcing me to meander through the terminal like a drunken butterfly.

When walking in a group, perhaps you could line up side by side and occupy all space in the universe to prevent my passage, or force me to squeeze by in the most uncomfortable game of red rover ever played. Maybe you could stare at me as I brush by, just to enhance the effect. And I'm sorry I have a backpack and a laptop bag. You just might pack heavy too if you were moving across the world.

Though these experiences may strike the uninitiated as uncomfortable, they pale in comparison to the hell that a walker3 is subjected to when followed by an individual pulling a rolly suitcase. I don't think I can adequately describe the fear that strikes my heart to hear the "brrrrrrrr-clickity clack! clickety clack! brrrrrrrr" as a rolly suitcase follows me.

Which brings me to my last neurosis: Iceland, next time I'm flying just south of you, please don't send turbulence my way. I'm a nice dude. There's no reason to go banging up the plane like that, so that every five minutes the seatbelt light comes on, the plane starts a-shakin', and the rolls of fat from el hippo next door start jiggling onto my personal space again.4

Anyways, I've got to run to work. I apologize for the delay on this post, and promise that I actually have material that is considered "funny" for upcoming posts. At least, material that I consider "funny".

1. Can I take this moment I describe my hatred for the motivational aphorism, "a long journey begins with a single step"? Like, seriously? That's not even accurate. How about, "a long journey begins with paying through the nose for a U-Haul trailer that's actually way too small for your belongings, and then you realizing that and asking the poor dude at U-Haul to hook up another trailer instead and getting him to be all nice about it and stuff, but yet silently hate you for your spatial incompetence".
2. To be clear: using food imagery to describe my personal space while using hungry hippo imagery to describe my neighbor was completely intentional.
3. I once insulted a co-worker for using the word walker to describe her child. I include this here solely to enhance my hypocrite credentials.
4. I'm starting to feel guilty for repeatedly bringing up the poor man's size, so let me just state that I have nothing against his size, and everything against the airline industry for making us bedfellows during transatlantic trips.

1 comment:

Robert said...

Can we get a footnote on "funny" here?