Sorry Mom, I Talk to Strangers
The first one had just returned from Cape Town. He told me all about cage diving with white sharks and how he thought it was grossly overrated.
The next had my imagination running away with scarfacesque druglord theories. He was a giant latino wearing thick gold chains and was constantly whispering on the phone. It certainly didnt help that he was heading to Miami. But when he started talking about his wife and children, you could tell it was breaking his heart to be away from them. He also shared with me the last of his lemon-mint drops. (Yes, I also take candy)
Then there was the middle-aged housewife who in a sudden fit of independence had taken off to europe with a Filipino church group. Barely back, she was already fretting over school supplies for her two teenaged boys. But she tells me that the Passion Play in Germany was a sight to behold and blushes as she recalls dancing on the streets of Italy. I mostly remember how her eyes lit up as she spoke of this trip which is her first ever holiday alone. So I smiled and told her she should do it again.
A career woman sort fidegting next to me complains that her schedule is so congested that she has to fix meetings at airports during transit while she globetrots. With a hint of triumph in her voice she surprises me by adding that a few years ago she was content to be a school teacher who never left town.
I’m happily dozing off when a wild-haired guy asks me what I’m listening to. So we plunge into a discussion about music and how he once followed U2 on tour. My exhaustion is forgotten as I laugh at hilarious descriptions of his french grandmother.
I love people.