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: late in Week 22
One end of a conversation made on a pay phone while waiting for a shuttle from the Philadelphia International Airport to Brownell.
So I was bored. I mean, what do you expect? It takes hours and hours and decades and centuries and eons to get from Los Angeles to Philadelphia even by plane, and I was bored with looking out the window as soon as we got above cloud cover. Nothing to see with cloud cover. I mean really. How long is it interesting to look out and go, 'Oh, white clouds. More white clouds. Oh look, there's a gray cloud!'
So I read for a while, but you know, books are nice and all, but people are tons more interesting. And there was a man sitting in the seat next to me who looked like he was interesting. He had a face that was all scrunched up around the eyes, like a mole, and he had a big star on his nose, and whiskers, and... okay, okay, yes, maybe not exactly, okay? But it would have been interesting if he had.
So anyway, he looked interesting, but he had his nose in a newspaper and he wasn't talking. Silent as a stone, like he'd never ever talked before in his life. So I cleared my throat, just a little, to catch his attention. A-heh, like that. He didn't look up. So I did it again -- a-heh, a-heheheh. Nothing from mole-man.
I picked up my book again, and had a brilliant -- no, genius -- idea. If I started reading, and then laughed really hard, maybe he would ask me what was so funny. I was just sure that behind his squinty mole-face there was someone interesting, because pretty much everyone is interesting if you get to know them, right? Even David, the stablehand back home, he was interesting once you got past the fact that he spat a river's worth and glistened like a frog on hot days... but anyway.
So I started to read, waited until I'd got a few pages, and laughed. Just a small little laugh, on my honor, just a titter -- I don't know why he yelped and dropped the newspaper, okay? But he gave me just the dirtiest look, for just the tiniest littlest most demure laugh.
What's with people, anyway?
So he harrumphed and harrummed and hemmed and hawed -- I should have taken throat-clearing lessons from him, it put my a-hehs to shame -- and got the stewardess to change his seat with someone else's. Rich businessman, got what he wanted. But I wound up next to this nice woman going to Philly to put together an art installation... so it worked out.
Pity about mole man, though. I still say I bet he's interesting, under the squinty and the newspaper.
Anyway, I need to go, I think my shuttle might be here right this very minute. It's a coach and four manned by coachman rats, and I can't keep it waiting. (What does that mean, anyway? A coach and four what? Horses? Giraffes? Emus on parade? -- Yes, I know that, it's just a funny phrase, isn't it?) No, of course I won't call you later, Aunt Berry. And I won't remember to call my parents.
Love you, too.
One end of a conversation made on a pay phone while waiting for a shuttle from the Philadelphia International Airport to Brownell.
So I was bored. I mean, what do you expect? It takes hours and hours and decades and centuries and eons to get from Los Angeles to Philadelphia even by plane, and I was bored with looking out the window as soon as we got above cloud cover. Nothing to see with cloud cover. I mean really. How long is it interesting to look out and go, 'Oh, white clouds. More white clouds. Oh look, there's a gray cloud!'
So I read for a while, but you know, books are nice and all, but people are tons more interesting. And there was a man sitting in the seat next to me who looked like he was interesting. He had a face that was all scrunched up around the eyes, like a mole, and he had a big star on his nose, and whiskers, and... okay, okay, yes, maybe not exactly, okay? But it would have been interesting if he had.
So anyway, he looked interesting, but he had his nose in a newspaper and he wasn't talking. Silent as a stone, like he'd never ever talked before in his life. So I cleared my throat, just a little, to catch his attention. A-heh, like that. He didn't look up. So I did it again -- a-heh, a-heheheh. Nothing from mole-man.
I picked up my book again, and had a brilliant -- no, genius -- idea. If I started reading, and then laughed really hard, maybe he would ask me what was so funny. I was just sure that behind his squinty mole-face there was someone interesting, because pretty much everyone is interesting if you get to know them, right? Even David, the stablehand back home, he was interesting once you got past the fact that he spat a river's worth and glistened like a frog on hot days... but anyway.
So I started to read, waited until I'd got a few pages, and laughed. Just a small little laugh, on my honor, just a titter -- I don't know why he yelped and dropped the newspaper, okay? But he gave me just the dirtiest look, for just the tiniest littlest most demure laugh.
What's with people, anyway?
So he harrumphed and harrummed and hemmed and hawed -- I should have taken throat-clearing lessons from him, it put my a-hehs to shame -- and got the stewardess to change his seat with someone else's. Rich businessman, got what he wanted. But I wound up next to this nice woman going to Philly to put together an art installation... so it worked out.
Pity about mole man, though. I still say I bet he's interesting, under the squinty and the newspaper.
Anyway, I need to go, I think my shuttle might be here right this very minute. It's a coach and four manned by coachman rats, and I can't keep it waiting. (What does that mean, anyway? A coach and four what? Horses? Giraffes? Emus on parade? -- Yes, I know that, it's just a funny phrase, isn't it?) No, of course I won't call you later, Aunt Berry. And I won't remember to call my parents.
Love you, too.