Restless in San Francisco

I’m not a nice person when I travel. The flaws of the world light up like a thousand dinging seatbelt signs and I just want to tell everyone I encounter how rude they are. This old man sitting next to me on my flight from Washington Dulles to San Francisco kept making these ghastly yawns without covering his mouth. Incidentally, it’s the same noise my sister makes when she wants to drive me crazy. Every time he opened his maw it sounded like he was hacking up a pit in his throat and a gust of mothball-scented wind floated by me. Cover your mouth, damn you! I longed to scream but instead I just glared at him from my peripheral view.
Behind me, a teenage surfer dude announced his desire for a cocktail as his seatmate shoved in next to him. Maybe he was lonely or scared of flying or just bored but he immediately engaged her in a question and answer session worthy of a blind date. What was she doing in Washington? Actually, she was just connecting. Why? Well, this is the airline’s hub, she explained. I was immediately impressed by her tolerance for such random interrogation. From where I was sitting, it sounded like she might even be enjoying it. So you’re going to California? She was going back home to San Francisco, well, Oakland actually. She was in Cleveland at her cousin’s wedding. Did you have a good time? Yeah. (Not really.) It’s always good to see family.

He started to tell her that he was en route to Hawaii for a surfing tournament, that he was meeting his family there and he hadn’t been in a really long time. He had a seven-hour layover in San Francisco that he planned to spend at the bar. She met this with peals of nervous laughter for lack of anything constructive to say. Then he told her that he had gotten his plane ticket for $10 because his uncle worked for the airline. Can’t beat ten bucks, right? She tried to match his deal by telling him that she also had a relative who worked for the airlines. Once they got in on one of the friends and family promotions but she never really grew up living that lifestyle or anything. Not like her nieces and nephews who fly everywhere for free. The conversation breaks, a moment of silence. Thank God. The words on the page of my novel start to come back into focus. But no, he continues.
Did you go to college?
Me? She says. So far I haven’t actually seen this woman. She’s just a disembodied alto behind me but my guess is that she’s well into her thirties. For the first time since he started with the questions there’s a barely perceptible edge to her voice. Of course I went to college, you sparky little souse, is what I’m hearing. So, his next question redeems them both.
Where did you go?
Berkelely.
Wow, he says. I can see his eyes go wide. Everyone I know who goes there is like super smart.
She laughs nervously. She wasn’t expecting such sincerity.
Well, I don’t know how I got in.
Then the bashful laugh. This guy is really sweet, she’s thinking. No agenda. And I’m maybe buying into his whole persona at this point, too. Why couldn’t I just accept that here was a nice kid trying to reach out to the stranger next to him for no other purpose than to make a human connection? Why did I have to judge him based on the volume of his voice? Maybe I was jealous that my seat mates had no interest in my life. I looked to the young girl to my right but she was engaged in her Discman and flinched slightly when she saw me trying to make eye contact. The old man on my left spasmed in his sleep and let out another snozzle. We hadn’t even left the ground, yet.
The dialogue behind me went on.
What did you study?
Architecture.
Wow. That’s awesome.
Yeah, she says, sort of dreamily, sort of proud. Now it’s her turn to keep the chat going. That’s how I ended up in Oakland.
You a Raiders fan?
Hell, I’m a Broncs fan. And here the laugh kicks in again but it’s not self-conscious or nervous anymore. It’s a deep, hearty female Santa sound. I’m originally from Colorado.
I got some friends at the University of Colorado. Man, they like to party.
Yeah. They do.
The captain curtails the chat, alerting the flight attendants to prepare for takeoff.
The voices behind me go silent for a good, long time. They both invest the money for the personal hand-held digibetas and headphones, he gets his cocktail.

Throughout the flight, I long to turn around and stare at these two people behind me, to see what they look like, to confirm or shatter the image in my mind of this unexpected pair of pals. But, I don’t because it would be rude.

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005 at 5:34 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.