NTKOG #82: The kind of chatty kathy who, given four hours trapped next to you on a plane, sets out to give you a detailed personal and medical history.
I am: a bitch when I travel. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, and don’t even think about stowing your coat in the overhead bin.
I am not: self-important enough to think anyone wants to hear my bidness anyway. (Except you guys. Heart.)
The Scene: Jetting back from Vegas, on a flight from Denver to my beloved Logan International. After I set up with my logic puzzle book, middle-aged couple settles in next to me. I let the woman genially elbow me in the face a few times with her snowman sweater, then get psyched for some discourse.
I ask where they’re coming from — Aspen, to visit their daughter — and she inquires as to whether I’m coming or going. “Coming home,” I tell her, “to the most beautiful city in the world, what?”
“I’m jealous,” she says. “I’d love to live in Boston! We live in Providence.” We chat for a few more oddly pleasant minutes, and I’m beginning to dread the onset of baby pictures when Snowman Sweater solves the problem by falling asleep mid-sentence.
We must have really hit it off, though, because at one point her head slumped over onto my shoulder. I even let it lay there for a second, before flinching her off. Progress!
The Verdict: I was all set to write this one off. The problem with being trapped for long periods of time with the same person: if you don’t like each other, that sucks; if you do hit it off, you have to keep on hitting ’til the end of the voyage. Can’t win with it, can’t play with it, etc.
But then! The payoff: after the plane touched down, got a text from my dear friend Physicist who had planned to drive up from Rhode Island to see me the next day. He was letting me know he couldn’t get a car; could we make alternate plans?
In a moment of warmth, I turned to my new bff. “Hey, you guys are from Rhode Island, right? I need to get to a place called Portsmouth tomorrow. Portsmouth — is that a city? Is that a thing? You have any idea how I can get there?”
And bless her, she and her husband spent the entire walk to the baggage claim plying me with potential travel routes. All of which actually turned out to be totally inaccurate. But still!
Not That Kind of Girl 