Help from 38,000 feet. I am in the middle of an absolute Freak Show Circus, and it's become less and less clear if I am on the outside or inside of the cage.
It started out so simple, a Monday night flight from Dallas to Boston.
There I was, sitting in 20A, and right behind me in row 21, in a sure sign of the 2012 Apocalypse, it finally happened. Talking Head Tom, that dreaded traveler who cannot shut his mouth on a flight, sat down next to Blabbermouth Betty, who can talk your brain into a mushpot in mere seconds, and it was a Match.com made in Heav'n. The fact that he was about 25 and she was about 75 made no difference. They both loved to prattle so much and so loudly, they weren't about to let something like chemistry get in the way of the ultimate yackfest. There was a boat on the cover of the in-flight magazine, and Betty was practically bursting at the seams to start a conversation. "Oh, look at that BOAT!" she exclaimed. "I just love to see boats. They just always look so FUN and-" "I have a boat!" Talking Head Tom interrupted excitedly. "It's a 2004 SkiMan Craftathon Deluxe, in blue -- with the optional fins and a kayak hook and a -"
"I rode in a kayak once!" Better squealed. "Well, I think it was a canoe. It was on a river, and…! And…! And, and… and!" She finally took a breath and that was Talking Head Tom's cue to butt in - "My favorite river is one in North Carolina! So last summer..." Ohhh, no. No, no, no. The volume level was set to just above "jackhammer."
Meanwhile, across the aisle to my right in 20C, The Junkman was getting busy. I refer to him as "The Junkman" because he was apparently having Junk Problems, as in, problems with his junk, and the only thing that could possibly fix it was frantic scratching, poking, and general rustling around his mid-section. Unfortunately, all the pawing had caught the attention of my seat partner in 20B, Buddy Seeker, the ultimate seat partner horror who was on high alert patrolling for a new best friend on the flight. His plans included talking incessantly for the entire flight, prominently projecting his rancid smoker's breath. "Well, what do you think?" he asked toothily. I smiled and give him a thumbs-up, briefly thinking of answering in sign language as a diversion. I realized it was going to be a long, long flight. But at least, the people in front of me seemed normal.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy talking to people on flights. In moderation, like all healthy things in life.
The flight attendant walked by, and Buddy literally grabbed his arm. "SCUSE' ME," he rasped in a voice that was reminiscent of Herman Munster, if Herman Munster had smoked a couple cartons of Pal Mal's a day, "IS THERE WI-FI ON THIS FLIGHT?"
"Uh, I don't-" the flight attendant said.
"OKAY. NOW -- DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE MOVIE IS? IS THERE A MOVIE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS?"
"Sir, I'll find out for you," the flight attendant said, scurrying away and down the aisle like a moth fleeing a spider. Me, I was all caught up in the web, right there, sitting next to the man. All web, but no Wi-Fi. I couldn't go for my earphones and music because we were still on the ground.
Ah ha, I thought. I'll feign sleep. Please understand, you couldn't put me to sleep on a plane takeoff with Cat Tranquilizer, but I can fake it like the dickens. Buddy started staring at me, itching for conversation, as my eyes slowly fluttered shut. "Think, krs, THINK! You need a sound effect." I decided to pick one of my "scchhhFCHH" mini-snorts, which I felt sure would be convincing that I had taken a sharp right down Ambien Boulevard. But Buddy was watching, and he had the perfect antidote for Takeoff Nap.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW FAR THE AIRPORT IS AWAY FROM THE CITY OF DALLAS?" Buddy blasted, and my eyes flew open like goosed window shades. Behind me, Blabbs and Talking Head were exchanging excited monologues about their favorite pool toys (I am not making this up), having clearly died and gone to Chatterbox Heaven. I blinked my eyes and gently shook my head at Buddy with a perplexed look, and the fact that I lived in Dallas for over a decade didn't dare escape my mouth.
Flight Attendant Richard returned. "The movie is, The Muppet Movie," he announced.
"OH MY GAAAAAAWD," Buddy moaned in a raspy, smoker's contra-bass horror. "THAT WAS THE MOVIE YESTERDAY. PLEASE SOMEBODY, STICK STEEL SPIKES IN MY EYES!" No, no, I think. If there were any on the plane, I wanted them so that I could stab them into my ears. Repeatedly. I resume my faux-nap and the plane stretched into the air. While riveted with Blabbs and Talking Head's conversation, which had now drifted downstream to ocean craft and the salt worthiness of different boats, I could feel Buddy's piercing gaze, just waiting for one of my eyelids to squeak open so that he could make his move. Suddenly, he gave up on me, and -- I swear to the Universe I am not making this up -- he turned around and started talking to the row across the aisle behind us. Just then, it was then "safe to use portable electronic devices!" Wholly Fully Grown Sweet Bejeezuz.
I flew out of my "sleep" and grabbed my tablet, put on my headphones, and turned on my music in a desperate plea for escape. As everyone knows, MP3 players and headphones are impervious to even the most severe of bores on a flight. Channeling Princess Leia: "Help me, Obi Wan Gavin DeGraw. You're my only hope!" Gavin started rocking, and the din drowned out. I was sure that Blabs & Tom were talking about water on Mars at that point, having exhausted and evaporated every other water topic on Earth.
This story has a happy ending. I fell asleep, and when I woke up about 30 minutes from BAWstin, Buddy, Talking Head, and Blabs were all sawing logs, with visions of their Blabberfests dancing in their heads. Me? I escaped, and the only thing I lost was my sanity. Well. I wasn't using it that much anyway.
