Thursday, April 29, 2010


Yesterday I was surrounded by people for 16 hours.

Not just people around me, or at the same event of meeting - I mean besieged on every side, encircled by strangers (or, as I see it, friends I haven't met yet) to the point where my personal air space was constantly and continually being violated in a fashion that would have drove most people to hand sanitizer, running shrieking out the terminal, or Valium.

Yes, you are correct, sir - I was flying.

At airports, the polite waiting-in-line-at-the--bank line is suddenly compacted by a factor of 9. As drivers do, the shuffle-up-the-moment-the-light-just-MIGHT-be-thinking about turning-green-again forces you to stand with your nose on the shoulder of the person in front of you, while your carry-on bag is constantly pushed forward by the person behind you.

I tried to maintain what for me was a proper and respectful distant distance while in line, but shortly succumbed to the directed glares and significant grunts of those convinced that the additional 2 cm. move would make a SUPREME difference in getting to the luggage scanning machine.

That same frantic sense of go-go-go-go compels everyone to almost-run pace, dodge in and out of traffic exactly like the red convertible that simply has to get ahead of you until he is stopped at the red light right next to you.

I'm not old and/or grey enough to garner the respect for the elderly, but I am forced to walk at a slow pace because of my breathing problems. And much like the 'classic' Toyota from the eighties, you can stomp on that gas pedal as much as you want, but it ain't gonna get you into the fast lane.

The entire experience would be out of the question for your normal germaphobic, claustrophobic or any social disorder person.

I may soon begin putting my name in those actual categories. Mr. Monk and Howie Mandel, say hello to your new best friend.