I mean, seriously. Is it only more noticeable when you're on an airplane, and the weirdos seem to come out of the woodwork?
Friday, I went down to California for a few days to visit my family. (No, I did not manage to bring the 65 degrees and sunny back to Oregon. It was 21 when I woke up. It was a whopping 29 when I went out to lunch a few hours later.)
On the way we had what looked to be an entire teenage girls' athletic team (read: tall - I don't know how they fit into this puddlejumper without banging their heads on the top, and loud: are they the last of their generation to refuse to have ipods and keep to themselves?)
The trip back was something else. On my right, someone who clearly thinks the height of style is Belinda Carlisle (hair and all), circa 1983. On my left, the one asshole left talking on his cell phone when the rest of us have shut them off before takeoff.
And why is it that the people who talk the loudest - and want to talk the most - are always the most boring and the most obnoxious?
This guy spends several minutes telling some poor fucker on the other end about how he went on a fishing trip before he got married ("We ate the marlin for the wedding dinner! An eight-foot marlin!") and spent the honeymoon - you guessed it - fishing.
And he spent the entire conversation talking about the kinds of fish he caught and how many.
Meanwhile, his poor (I assume) wife (who else would voluntarily travel with this moron?) is just sitting, staring into space, unfazed.
At least Belinda Carlisle tucks into a book. I hate it when people want to be chatty on planes, because 1) they're usually boring and 2) I'm usually terrified. I hate planes. I hate flying. I especially hate flying on small planes. Our plane had a whopping 40 rows and a bathroom so tiny there was no sink, just a bottle of hand sanitizer. Luckily, I have a small butt, otherwise I might not have made it through the door.
I'm trying not to contemplate the small plane during takeoff, when fishboy leans over and says, "If your car made this noise (that the plane was making), wouldn't you take it back? HAHA!"
I don't laugh. Actually, no one laughs. I pretend I didn't hear him, try to read and not focus on the fact that I think we all might die, and then he spends the next 20 minutes staring at me. When I look up, he looks away. Then he looks back again.
I look out the window, thinking he's looking at the scenery below. It's pitch black.
I should have yelled, "What the fuck is so interesting? I'm not even a marlin!" But you know, we had turbulence and I was once again thinking about not thinking about how the plane could, at any minute, fall out of the sky.
How's your week going?