The Current Threat Advisory Level Is Orange

For safety reasons, please do not leave baggage unattended, and DO NOT FLY THROUGH CHICAGO-OHARE.

It is now 9:45 local Chicago time. This makes it 7:45 Oakland/Mills time, and 10:45 Pittsburgh time, my “final destination” as far as airports go. My first flight from San Francisco to Chicago went quite smoothly indeed, and it put us here in the airport in the Windy City around 5:05. Did I mention that it is now 9:45? Hm. This flight was supposed to leave at 8:10. Our captain is apparently not arriving until 10:30. Current departure time projection: 10:45. This will put me into Pittsburgh around 1 a.m., local time. I’m so sorry, mom.

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Meanwhile, let’s talk about the ambiance of traveling! On the airplane, it’s cramped. Holy crap is it cramped. I had to go to there restroom on my first flight, as any normal person would in a four hour time period – and you CANNOT walk through the aisle (if you are a normal, me-sized person) without stepping on toes, whacking the heads of innocently sleeping folks rudely with your elbows, or –godforbid- passing someone coming in the opposite direction without causing frankly an obscene amount of hootenanny!

(it’s my first time using that word. Bear with me. ☺)

But there’s also the talking rules, the unspoken rules, which is actually ironic! The chap who was sitting next to me on the first flight followed them beautifully. I was on the end, the aisle seat that is so nice for comfort but so bad for sleeping, though not as bad as the middle seat. Anywho, as I sat down, he said to me, “what happened to your guitar?” because he had noticed that it was ruthlessly taken from me and tossed haphazardly down a cruel waterslide-for-baggage-sans-the-water that went down to the ground for it to be put in the plane. I answered about the lack of overhead compartment space, and he nodded, understanding, and told a similar story about that happening to his guitar once-upon-a-time. The story was short, had a point, and he didn’t stare awkwardly or smell bad. And then he didn’t talk for the rest of the flight. Good plane etiquette.

Sometimes you meet a person who you would gladly chat with for a half hour, but how many times have you met such a person and they thought that the conversation was over the same time you did? Huh? Exactly.

So, plane etiquette is one thing. Waiting-at-the-gate etiquette is another thing, I feel. When you’re all gathered at the gate, basically sighing and slapping your foreheads exasperatedly in unison when the people at the desk announce more delays, you feel like a herd of unfortunate cattle. And I feel conversations between parties are much more tasteful when they happen in this situation. You can commiserate, swap questions of, “So, is suchandsuchaplace home? Nah, not for me either…”/”Jeez, I hope you didn’t have a connecting flight, did you?”…etc. You laugh, you shrug, mumble things about the airline, the airport, the weather – whatever makes you feel better. And then, when you do eventually board the plane, everyone can go back to their silent, stranger-fearing ways, pretending they never did such a thing as have almost meaningful relations with strangers, because we Americans don’t do that. Then, you put those fake smiles back into place and nod at the flight attendants, and think about how you’re finally going somewhere.

And, since I’m on the subject of Americans – does anyone else ever feel astoundingly boring when you walk around speaking English all the time? Today, I have already heard two languages that I didn’t recognize. It was pretty much fantastic to hear them, but then, I heard my own voice afterwards, asking for a coffee or directions to the concourse, and that boring English just flowed over my lips, as if it were my native tongue or something.

Nah, I don’t hate English all that much. Sometimes it just seems dull, though – but only when it’s simple statements, like coffee orders. Does ordering coffee ever sound good, regardless of language? Can it sound fascinating and beautiful? I wonder. I’ll let you know when I find that magical language.

As many of you may have guessed, I am writing this from my seat at the gate, looking around at the mosaic of passengers, ranging from the happy-go-lucky-frizzy-haired-white-guy to the pensive-looking-guy-in-a-suit to the adorable-looking-man-in-turban-who-fell-asleep-with-his-headphones-in. Moods range from the mildly peeved (see blonde girl across from me!!) to the “It’s out of my hands!”, to the simple “well, I’ll sleep until we leave”. Oh, people. We deal with this in such different ways.

Also, I’ve seen too many beautiful women in beautiful saris to not miss the professor that I wrote about a couple of days ago. Not the one I to which I referred as a spider. No. The other one. Tu me manques beaucoup, Prof B.

So, if this does get posted, that means I made it home. Thank you, BJ!!!