I took a shuttle to and from the Acura dealership today and it was the same driver both ways and on both occasions I was the only passenger. The driver was a Mexican lady and I recalled from a previous visit to the same dealership that she was a friendly, talkative sort. She was soon describing what a nice weekend she had had - just relaxing in her backyard with her dog in her lap and watching her cat tear around. So she had a cat and a dog and apparently they got along quite ok, but the cat (which was bigger than the dog) was in the habit of scaring the dog to the endless amusement of its owner. Turns out the dog was quite new - a replacement for the earlier one that one fine day ran off from home. The first dog was apparently a 'chiweenie', which is a cross between a chiuaua and a dachshund. The second one was another cross breed - this time between a chiuaua and a Pinscher. Why this preference for the cross breeds I wondered? It was no accident - she actually preferred them. According to her, the pure bred chiuauas are very illtempered. They are always in a bad mood and resent anybody else spending time with their owner. The cross breeds on the other hand, are apparently very well behaved.
She was sad for the cat - he missed playing with the first dog - they were apparently fast friends. She also had another kitten now that her daughter (an avid animal lover) had rescued from some friend of hers. More family information was forthcoming - my driver has 3 daughters and they all live with her. One of her daughters also has 3 daughters of her own, but I am guessing they live elsewhere since she announced that her house had 4 women and 3 male pets. No grandsons, I asked? Not until one of the other two daughters were willing to oblige came the reply. There was nary a mention of a husband or son-in-law, although one of weekend activities was talking to her father. I was tempted to ask, but that would have made this post too long. Also I need something to talk about next time. :-)
Showing posts with label Encounters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Encounters. Show all posts
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Dutch Courage
I took a flight to San Jose earlier today and originally this was going to be a mildly humorous post about the minor mishaps I had getting to my flight, but that can wait for another time. I seem to be always dashing around airports and gates - there is got be a blog in all those near misses.
Anyway, our flight boarded relatively early for a commuter flight, but as we were getting ready to leave, one more guy joined us and occupied the seat across the aisle from me. What struck me immediately was the smell of alcohol coming off of him. He was dressed quite well - suit, overcoat, and a top hat, but seemed a little fidgety. I put it down to the drink. I focused on my magazine and didn't pay him much attention. After take off, he had a murmured conversation with the flight attendant who then brought him some vodka. I overheard him say that he had flown from NY to Chicago, Chicago to SD, and now SD to San Jose.
I was listening to some podcasts for most of the flight and didn't really look much at our friend. I did notice that he got another little bottle of vodka just before we started coming in. I had to switch everything off for the approach and it registered on me that the flight was coming down quite rapidly and that made me a little queasy. Apparently that was nothing compared to what was happening to the guy across the aisle. Something was clearly bothering him - his eyes were screwed shut and he seemed to be fighting something down. Occasionally he would puff as if to work through some pain. Sometimes he would violently shake his hands and other times he seemed to be fighting down something welling up in his throat. I was fairly convinced that the guy was going to hurl. Seeing him struggle, I was wondering whether I should offer him the barf-bag - surely he knew about it? He was so close to me that I was sure I was going to get the brunt of it if he did puke.
His mannerisms got increasingly panicky and didn't really stop even after we landed. I saw him scrounging around his coat pocket for something - probably something to throw up into, I was convinced. I kept glancing at him (mostly to be prepared when he decided to hurl) and as we were taxiing in, he was still clearly unhappy. I realized he had noticed my glances when he suddenly looked my way and said, "Sorry about all that, I am just not a good flyer, especially in such a small plane." That explained a lot - what we had been seeing were near-panic attacks.
Silence followed and I felt compelled to ask, "Do you just get nervous during take-offs and landings?" No, he said, it is pretty much the whole flight, especially in such a tiny cabin. Then he added, "My fiance and her daughter were killed in a plane crash last year. Since then it is hard for me to fly." I didn't know what to say. He took out a picture of a kid, kissed it, and put it back in his wallet.
Eventually the door was opened and he sprang up to leave - I let him go ahead since he clearly had a more urgent need to be off that plane. As we were leaving, the cockpit door was open. He walked up to the door, reached into his coat pocket and took out some money. I was thinking, is he going to tip the flight attendant who helped him with the drinks? He wasn't. Instead, he reached into the cockpit and handed the money to the pilot with the words, "Pilot, thanks for bring us in safely. Have a drink on me." So much for first impressions.
Anyway, our flight boarded relatively early for a commuter flight, but as we were getting ready to leave, one more guy joined us and occupied the seat across the aisle from me. What struck me immediately was the smell of alcohol coming off of him. He was dressed quite well - suit, overcoat, and a top hat, but seemed a little fidgety. I put it down to the drink. I focused on my magazine and didn't pay him much attention. After take off, he had a murmured conversation with the flight attendant who then brought him some vodka. I overheard him say that he had flown from NY to Chicago, Chicago to SD, and now SD to San Jose.
I was listening to some podcasts for most of the flight and didn't really look much at our friend. I did notice that he got another little bottle of vodka just before we started coming in. I had to switch everything off for the approach and it registered on me that the flight was coming down quite rapidly and that made me a little queasy. Apparently that was nothing compared to what was happening to the guy across the aisle. Something was clearly bothering him - his eyes were screwed shut and he seemed to be fighting something down. Occasionally he would puff as if to work through some pain. Sometimes he would violently shake his hands and other times he seemed to be fighting down something welling up in his throat. I was fairly convinced that the guy was going to hurl. Seeing him struggle, I was wondering whether I should offer him the barf-bag - surely he knew about it? He was so close to me that I was sure I was going to get the brunt of it if he did puke.
His mannerisms got increasingly panicky and didn't really stop even after we landed. I saw him scrounging around his coat pocket for something - probably something to throw up into, I was convinced. I kept glancing at him (mostly to be prepared when he decided to hurl) and as we were taxiing in, he was still clearly unhappy. I realized he had noticed my glances when he suddenly looked my way and said, "Sorry about all that, I am just not a good flyer, especially in such a small plane." That explained a lot - what we had been seeing were near-panic attacks.
Silence followed and I felt compelled to ask, "Do you just get nervous during take-offs and landings?" No, he said, it is pretty much the whole flight, especially in such a tiny cabin. Then he added, "My fiance and her daughter were killed in a plane crash last year. Since then it is hard for me to fly." I didn't know what to say. He took out a picture of a kid, kissed it, and put it back in his wallet.
Eventually the door was opened and he sprang up to leave - I let him go ahead since he clearly had a more urgent need to be off that plane. As we were leaving, the cockpit door was open. He walked up to the door, reached into his coat pocket and took out some money. I was thinking, is he going to tip the flight attendant who helped him with the drinks? He wasn't. Instead, he reached into the cockpit and handed the money to the pilot with the words, "Pilot, thanks for bring us in safely. Have a drink on me." So much for first impressions.
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