Chatterbox

I knew it was going to be a long flight when I settled into my exit middle seat amongst 9 other guys that deserved to be there every bit as much as I did. Dallas is always so deceptively far away. You don’t get down about flying to Dallas like you might by the mere mention of flying all the way to Boston or something, but you’re always sufficiently worn out when you get off the plane, wondering how the heck it took 4 hours and you’re only in the middle of the country. As always, this route to SFO from DFW was sold out and upgrades were out of the question, at least for somebody at the lower end of the status spectrum. I’m like that guy that drives a Mercedes Benz 190 and lives in a duplex on that street that leads up to the hills and just barely shares the same prestigious zip code, when it comes to airline status. My ticket says platinum, but my name is always mentioned in trade rumors.

Being that we were leaving Big D, there were no shortage of cowboys (rhinestone and otherwise) on board, hoopin’ and hollerin’ and carrying on in their little accents. It sounded like J.R and Bobby Ewing, and Cliff Barnes were 3 rows back, loud talkin’ about some business venture so that the whole damn plane could hear them. Luckily, they quieted down about 30 minutes in. I guess the screwdrivers and scotch and tonics started to take effect. Chatty Cathy sitting right behind me took the baton from them though. She talked the ear off of the poor guy sitting next to her. I couldn’t see him, but I can only imagine the internal struggle he must be going through trying to withstand her verbal onslaught. His face must hurt from trying to maintain the interested countenance that she probably requires at appropriate intervals as reassurance that she is saying something interesting (not that she probably cares or actually needs this at all, on second thought).

I felt for this guy. I thought about turning around to give him my Bose Quiet Comfort 3 noise cancelling head phones to drown her out, but…but then I wouldn’t have them, and I’d be able to hear her even more clearly. I had the music up LOUD and I could still hear her. Unbelievable. Oh to be able to read his thoughts.


If I make it out of here alive, I will never take a commercial flight ever again. I’ll develop a tic so that it will be very annoying for people to sit next to me and they’ll leave me alone. I’ll dress in a suit and wear dark sunglasses and an earpiece, incessantly adjusting its volume and speaking in code while I check my watch and scan the cabin for security breaches. I’ll play possum. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just drop my head and fall into a deep slumber right here. I’ll double over at the waist, allowing my body to be supported only by the seatbelt. I
If I ever get out of here, I’ will indeed order those noise cancelling headphones that are in this here SkyMall magazine like that guy in the seat in front of me, looking so comfortable and relaxed and in his own little world. Forget headphones. I’m going to light firecrackers next to each ear so that hearing is no longer a problem. In fact, it will be no issue at all. Better yet, somebody please shoot me. Right here. Now. Save me! Put me out of my misery. I can feel my ears growing longer and longer as her shrilly voice continues on and on and on.

What is WRONG with this woman? She talks like she just learned how this morning and is trying to make up for 30 years of lost time—during this flight! She went to the bathroom and it took me a minute to realize that I could finally hear my music again. It was short lived. She didn’t even wait to sit down before starting back in. I bet she was talking all the way to the lavatory, probably engaging people down the aisle as she walked. Un-be-lievable! She’d give the most inquisitive 4 year old a run for their money. I’m going to write a letter to Bose. I want my money back. Well, maybe she’s just the rare case. Perhaps her voice is at a frequency that cuts through the wavelength of all the other sounds swirling around in here. Other than her voice, everything else is pretty much cancelled out. It could be worse though. I could be that guy. Poor guy. He should get some kind of medal for enduring all this. Maybe the flight attendants should give him some wings (or more appropriately some ears—like Mickey Ears or something) to pin on in recognition of his sacrifice. SOMEBODY had to sit by her.

After the flight I would learn that she was not even the worst offender in this category on the flight. My poor co-worker, who had to endure all of pain and turmoil that Northwest Ohio had to offer yesterday right along with me, sat by a lady named Quynh that was on her way from China to meet some 63-year old guy that had bought her a ticket from China to come see him in Pensacola. She was 27 and for some reason was really hard pressed to get out of China. When I saw them coming out of the jetway together I thought that he had made a new friend and maybe would get her phone number or something. “You old sly dog, you…” I thought.. I thought for sure he’d have some wonderful story to report about how he had met this lady from China and that they had made a real connection and she would be visiting him and well…you know. No. on our way to baggage claim, he proceeded to tell me how she Like miss 22F behind me had gabbed non-stop from gate to gate about everything from her being courted by senior citizens and tenured professors on the internet to her father being a shrimp fisherman and her bout with indometriotis.. Yes, she spilled all her guts. She had made remarks like, “Can you believe that many of these men on the internet want to have sex with me?” and “would you like to see some Chinese money,” opening her wallet nice and wide to show the wad of cash she was carrying around. My co-worker gave her the friendly advice that she ought not do that when she’s out on the streets in America and that her carefree discussions about sex and very personal items would put many people off, and that he wished her well on her travels. He too looked very worn out from this marathon of ingesting information from ol’ Quynh. Poor guy. As if being tired and brain dead from the work wasn’t enough. I said a prayer for him...AND her.