You Know, That Guy

You know how when you're in an airport waiting to board your flight? And you scope out the other passengers? Sometimes you wonder what their story is. Sometimes you pick out who you'd like to sit next to. But more than likely, you're picking out who you don't want to sit next to. And when you see that person, your thought is, "I'd hate to be the poor bastard sitting next to that guy/gal." (Don't deny it, you know you do it.) Guess who the poor bastard was this time?

Me.

So, this guy. I saw him walk in. He looked like some young Seattleite. Not the hipster type, but the almost hipster. Sport coat, nice khaki pants, decent shoes, tight haircut, messenger bag, and to top it off, silver Dolce and Gabbana eyewear. He was the type of guy who could either be nifty and fun or a complete douche. This one? Douche.

He struck up random conversations with people who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn't sit still. He was behind me in the line to board. As I walked down the walkway, I heard "Fuck." followed by "Oh FUCK." It was That Guy lamenting the line to board. I find my seat and am about to throw my coat into the overhead and he said to guy in 19C, "Hey, bud, I'm 19B." Oh, joy. I was 19A. "Well, what are the chances," he said. Indeed, what are the chances?

He was traveling back to British Columbia (not Seattle) from Greenville, South Carolina. Going by his accent and US Passport, he was from South Carolina and not Canada. I'm also going to guess he had adult ADD, was just generally hyperactive, or completely lacked any and all social skills. Or all of the above.

He kept wanting to talk about what I was reading, (When You Are Engulfed in Flames by the always wonderful David Sedaris.) He thought the title and picture were "cool." It was obvious he didn't know who David Sedaris was. Strike one.

He exclaimed (not muttered or said under his breath or hissed) in a loud voice, "Oh, yeah!" at almost anything, from the airplane safety rules to the SkyMart magazine. He would carry on conversations with himself. While he ate his canned tuna he purchased on the plane (Really? Tuna? On an enclosed metal tube full of people? Seriously, Northwest Air, did you think this through?), he watched the show the guy in 19C was watching on his laptop. Not the sly out of the corner of his eye watching, but he watched it like he could hear it, like it was there for everyone to watch. Strikes two, three, four, and five.

Then he played 3D pinball on his own computer. He did more "Oh yeah!" and poked me in the side with his knobby skinny elbow. He invaded my space so much I smashed myself against the wall of the airplane for so long that my hand fell asleep. I was this close to asking him to kindly stop poking me with his goddamn elbow. But I was concerned about his mental stability. Strikes six through eight.

And then he checked his pulse several times, put his hand over his chest, and then his stomach. He bent forward like he might be ill. That's what you get for eating a can of $7 tuna that you purchased from a metal cart on an airplane, dumbass. Normally, I feel sorry for people not feeling well on a plane. It sucks. You're stuck, and most people who are sick are truly embarrassed. This guy? I had no sympathy. I just hoped if he did lose his canned tuna, he didn't hit me. And I hoped I would be able to control my evil laughter and/or smirk. (He never got sick.) Strike... oh hell, who cares.

Then he read his Maxim magazine and made more small talk with himself while looking at the pictures of "Hometown Hotties." This was after he spent 45 minutes manipulating a black-and-white image of two naked women. It's not like they were actual images, they were stylized silhouettes that focused on the positive and negative space. But in the hands of this fuck? Well, it was creepy. Plus Maxim? Super creepy.

Finally, finally, we landed. I got off the plane where I passed him asking the monitors, "S18*? What the fuck? Where is that? Shit." As I walked away around the corner towards the stairs, I could still hear him, asking like he expected the monitors to answer him.

The kicker? For the first time I bought into Northwest's scheme of paying more for premium seats. I decided I wanted a window seat so I could see Seattle at night (it was cool) and have a wall to lean against. So I paid extra to deal with Dipshit ramble on about whatever happened to enter his head.



*I have no clue what gate he was looking for.