Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Lola vs. Crazy Airport Lady

I have realized that I am a magnet for lost souls who are dying to confess their deep dark secrets to perfect strangers. On this long and lonely confessional road, I am apparently the only beacon to the person who enjoys spewing out all sorts of intensely personal details about their lives.

Most often this phenomenon occurs to me in airports.

I was in Newark the other day, sitting at my gate, enjoying a slightly annoyed rant in my head on how my plane was delayed when a woman plops down in the seat next to me and expels a huge, breathy sigh. Which is reminiscent of either vomit or rum.

Did I mention that there were a whole host of empty seats behind, next to, and in front of me?

She sighs again; I wrinkle my nose, shift slightly to the left, and immediately decide that her breath is definitely a mixture of both vomit and rum. She turns to me, her long white-blond hair swinging over her shoulder drunkenly, and fixes me with a red-rimmed, green-eyed stare. “Are were we delayed going to Pittsburgh?”

Now the funny thing about this statement is not that she has just referred to me as her travel companion (oh, joy!) or that she has just used two verb tenses in succession, but that this plane is, in fact, going to St. Louis. So of course I respond to her with, “Yes, we are delayed."

“Oh, thank - (unintelligible word). I thought I might have passed out and missed it.”
Apparently sarcasm does not translate well into drunken slur because she came back with, “Hell no. Drunk!”

I made a grunting sound which was supposed to be a mere acknowledgment that she had been speaking.

However, what she heard me say was, “You look sad and lonely and obviously three sheets to the wind (because the pretend interpretation of me would say lame expressions like that). Please, unburden yourself! There is nothing I yearn for more on this earth than to hear why you are at an airport drunk by yourself at 10:17am!”

Much to my chagrin, pretend interpretation me was convincing. And so over the course of the next 45 minutes the following crazy airport lady secrets were revealed:

  • Her boyfriend lives in Dublin and she was just over there for two months visiting him. Her parents, who she lives with, do not even know she has a boyfriend, let alone why or where she has disappeared to for two months.
  • She found out she was pregnant in Dublin and is not entirely sure if it is Mr. Irish or her previous boyfriend who- as luck would have it- is an abusive psycho who gave her several black eyes during their tumultuous courtship.
  • Mr. Irish has sworn to marry her and has asked her to move to Dublin with him. However this leaves this lost soul in a quandary. How does she move her stuff out without her parents knowing she is leaving the country?

And for the kicker...

  • She was fired from her museum curator job because of a sexual harassment charge. And she was not, as I had assumed, involved with the prosecution. She was the defendant.

Lost souls I can handle. But now my question has become: how does one become demagnetized to sexual deviants fleeing from the American government seeking refuge in Ireland?


Michele said...

Never a dull moment!

Steve "The Animal" said...

I believe I have a cure for that... It involves a nine iron, a bowl of ice cubes (the square ones, not the strangely oval ones that come from the fridge ice cube maker), a fire cracker - preferrably class C (so we don't blow off any body parts), a glass paperweight and a pair of translucent blue dice. Trust me, it works!