Rambling Monday

october 22, 2007

I feel like I am closer to 100 percent than I have been since last week threw me down and jumped on my sternum.

I flew in last Thursday night around 12 in the morning and I succumbed to jet lag. I felt as bad and slept as much the next two days as I had in recovery phase for the last few months, easy.

Standing in line to board the plane, I bumped the guy in front of me with my bag. My bag bumped his bag actually. He cut his eyes and asked me if I was in such a hurry, did i want to go ahead of him. I told the gentleman that he needed to relax, my accidental bumping was not indicative of an unpleasant, hurried attitude on my part.

That is the attitude everyone gets and gives in the airports these days. If you are the occasional traveler who is taking a holiday flight, you might not notice this wretched demeanor lurking uncontrolled, but I see it every where.

The worst part of flying, for the somewhat hurried flier, is getting off the plane. You have to plot and scheme before hand. If you wind up storing your bag in an overhead behind where your seat is located, then you will be forced to wait for the entire flight to deplane before retrieving your belongings.

Location, location, location, it matters when dealing real estate, be it on the beach, a nice neighborhood or an overhead compartment on a canidAir regional jet.

The next worse thing for me is waiting to claim your baggage at the self explanatory baggage claim area. This may take upwards twenty to forty minutes. Oh the agony of futher prolonging your trip, just let me get home.

At New York's Laguardia Airport, there are several flights that require one to be bussed out to the plane's parking location. The direct flight to Birmingham is one such flight, where persons must cram into a little bus before being crammed on to a little plane. No big deal.

So everyone now off the little bus and onto the plane, myself included found themselves buckled into their seat, patiently awaiting departure. I told the gentlemen in the seat next to me that I would move to the outside seat since it looked like we were all on board. Men dont want to have to sit side by side on a plane if we dont have to, so I moved over. No big deal.

I looked up from my magazine a minute or two later and new persons were boarding the plane as they had just arrived via their own little bus.

An older gentlemen in his (best guess) sixties walked up to my seat and asked "10A"? "Yes", I responed, "I actually have 10B".

"No problem, stay where you are, its cool, man"

"Nice", I thought to myself. Not only do I not have to sit knee to knee with another man, this guy's great attitude lifted my wary traveling spirit. I have a new faith in the goodness of people.

This guy was dressed like an executive with a hippy old man flavor and he said words like "cool" and "dude". He also carried some kind of mandolin looking instrument. I imagined he had played some club or symphany in Manhattan.

You just dont hear old timers saying "cool" a lot. My granddad doesnt say it. My dad doesnt say it. Will I eventually feel the need to quit saying "dude" and "cool" or face being viewed by whipper snappers as a "hippy"?

I discussed the timely or timeless nature of such expressions with a couple of buddies over the weekend. It was funny because the day before this had been a highlighted discussion with another group.

I dont really know where this pondering is going, but I do know, that if you make friends with people who say say "cool", every thing will work out...maybe. I dont know...this all now sounds so silly.

goodwill to you,

r