So here I am, writing from Chicago, having been lovingly fondled by the TSA for having a Marian Consecration chain around my ankle, which set off the deadly-weapon detector (“Can you take it off for me?” I dunno man, can you divorce your wife for me?). Honestly, I’ve never had my inner thighs given so much attention.
I am being molested in Chicago because I really want to get to Duluth Minnesota, so I can make a film for the American Academy of Fertility Care Professionals there, so they can further promote and facilitate Natural Family Planning, so we can all have better sex. (Feel free to give your undying thanks to me.) But the people-that-can-fly made me and my wonderful mother (or the-people-who-can’t) stop here in The Windy City. The Academy is up and paying for my coffee and other essentials, so that’s nice. Third cup of airport coffee and still going strong. My goal is to take advantage of their kindness by not sleeping for four days.
Anyways, I am working as hard as I can to be a pretentious writer, so I am observing the human condition. I have learned the following things:
1. Human beings are willing to fake back injuries to get on a certain seat on a certain airplane. Even more interestingly, the-people-in-charge-of-assigning-airplane-seats will facilitate the pretense of those human beings, if and only if it makes their job easier or/and if the human being happens to be a beautiful woman, and the official happens to be a smitten, wistful-looking middle-aged man.
Why is it that the two things that will make you a mild crook are love and/or convenience?
Which is better?
Would it not be more amusing to fake an internal injury, such as paranoid schizophrenia? And what kind of seat would you get if you did?
2. There are three types of people in the world. Those who will sit on the floor of a public place, those who won’t, and those who will only sit on the floor of a public space with a certain expression on their face; one of determined indifference and/or vague haggardness and/or lofty irony, that says: Yes, I am sitting on the floor, and what of it, and/or don’t look at me too long for I have issues, or a lack of issues, and/or I am my own person and so I am free to sit on the floor.
Which are you?
Which is a toddler?
Who is happier, you or the toddler?
3. People eating in restaurants talk about restaurants, people flying in planes talk about flying in planes but people sitting at home talk about whatever they want to talk about.
Home is where the good conversation is?
Is flying to exotic places and eating out a lot a good way to avoid talking about the fact that no one in your family likes each other?
But in the midst of all this, and all this coffee, and all this layover time, and a very depressing novel (novella?) by Salinger, there have been some pretty cool airport signs, such as: