I try to buy a Cosmo magazine at the newsstand, because I'm clearly to stoopid right now to read about video on demand. The guy at the counter tells me he's closing and shoos me away. So I play solitaire. But since this too is intellectually challenging, I type about waiting for a plane.
A young guy (teenager), has a cane, and talks on the phone for hours. He's telling someone what he wants for Christmas. Dark jeans, but not black, etc.
A woman my age should not tuck her boots into her pants. She has great hair and is eating fruit salad from "au bon pain". I should eat fruit salad, but "au bon pain" is too far and my feet hurt. But my boots are tucked under my pants.
1:42 left on the laptop battery, apparently only 45 minutes until my flight leaves.
The newspaper has stories about the new American/Arab television network, and how the French and Germans are participating in efforts to eliminate Iraqi foreign debt.
Grace continues to call people and tell them she's in La Guardia. She's an engineer, doing her masters, and not used to traveling. She leaves her bags unattended to go talk to the airline agent for the 3rd time.
A plane takes off. Why is that sound so unusual here?
A man snorts as if he nose may fall off his head, soiling his suit with blood, given insufficient suction. Horrors! That might delay the flight further. Hmm, in fact, maybe a similar incident earlier has caused the current delay! I cannot see any noseless people.
A business man offer an anxious couple a place to sleep at his house.
A women with impossibly high heels and a fabulous scarf walks by quickly. Why don't her feet hurt like mine? She could pass for New-Yorkish or Parisian.
The guy on the phone explains how to work the switch. Good thing he was around, who knows what would have happened.
The plant behind me prevents me from leaning back, and invades my personal space. I wonder if it's real. It is. Since it provides me with oxygen, I should be grateful. Or, maybe I should just be annoyed at all the other people who are using up my oxygen. I wonder if I'm deprived.
Grace returns to her bags. She is too trusting. She's now making friends.
The out-of-the-loop Anglophone airport worker tries to understand the (obviously hilarious) Spanish conversation of the cleaning crew. So do I. Her laughter shows that she's more successful than I am.
I hear a plane, it comes closer. I'm tickled pink. I hope it's not obvious. Curses! It's not Air Canada.
New people arrive to depart and look confused about where there going. There's one gate, and it's a hall where you can only go straight - how can you be confused? I'm so tired I'm writing emails about waiting, but I'm not confused. Yet the confusion reigns. A possible explanation is that one of their names is Maureen. Maureens, I think, are more easily confused.
Oh! A flight arrives! Again there are pink tickles! More curses, it's the flight to Toronto. Toronto's sounding good about now.
Maureen and Cheryl (I hope I spelled her name right) sit down. Cheryl's purse and shoes match really nicely, yet she still looks confused. Unfortunately, though I appreciate the coordination, she may have used up too much of her brain on it. Maureen is clearly trying to divide 343498566 by 17 in her head. I could offer to do it for her on my laptop, but I might use up some of my remaining 1:28 battery hours. And Grace might try to be my friend! Oups, Maureen caught me looking at her and grinning. Such is life.
The snorting man sits motionless, hosting a staring contest with himself in the window. He's angry not to be married at his age. Upon losing the contest (he stopped staring), he gets up and walks around, shaking his legs. The boot woman leaves her things unattended to go talk to the desk - her and Grace should take a street-smart course.
The people arriving from Toronto are filled with glee, and they skip hand-in-hand down the hall, wearing matching kilts. Their pink cowboy boots make a clicking sound with the line-dancing moves. This is the first hallucination, sign of great fatigue and back pain, I whine. I should call home, but I don't want to lose my seat, and my reception sucks. If I start yelling on the phone, someone might start typing about me, how embarrassing. I call, and I can hear nothing.
Cheryl gossips with the man in the cheap suit. I'm going to try calling on the payphone now. Sleet? Snow? Fog? Let's speculate and look confused about it! But relief comes in the form of an announcement of further delays to the Montreal flight. It is imperative that everyone immediately call their distant cousins to communicate the update.
A woman wearing her travel pearls sucks an innocent bystander into animated discussions about sleet snow and fog. He can barely conceal his acute boredom and plays with his cell phone. Her wallet does not match her shoes, which is likely part of the reason for her stress. On second thought the man, who inches away from her, may be her husband. She is indignant.
A woman explains that it's worse for her to be stuck here because her kids are waiting for her. My kids are waiting for conception, but I have not the brainpower to explore the comparison.
Maureen continue to divide numbers, so perplexing.
The woman in the corner, the epitome of patience, makes her first cell phone call. I admire her.
Cheryl stares at me, as if, since I'm typing, I might now about the sleet snow or fog.
The woman with her travel pearls has a 3 karat diamond. I wonder if that reflects or increases the radiation from her cell phone.
Still at 1:28 left on the battery. Time does indeed stand still. A win in solitaire continues to elude me, alas. Parts of my back move without my volition.
The guy with the cane demonstrates exemplary phone stamina. He would be well suited to a long distance relationship.
Oh my! A flight arrives! It's Ottawa! Why does no one else share my joy! Clearly the connection is challenging, and requires the mind to be free from pondering the weather and long division. This is confirmed by an announcement, yet the ring-lady remains confused. Perhaps she's trying to help Maureen with her math. Again I grin and embarrass myself.
The Lightpath account woman's daughter wants a jellykelly handbag for Christmas, which costs $175 (see jellykelly.net). My handbag cost $35 and I thought I was being ripped off. I wonder why the pearl-woman doesn't have a jellykelly - she could be so much more hip!
My preboarding call. Won't these people be jealous when I board.
