Airport Watching

People watching at its best:

• Two young guys checking in just in front of me. Dressed kind of funky, but nothing really to draw attention. I hear the agent say "You had an afro??" One guy smiles shyly and gives a "Yeah". I notice they have guitar cases. Now the gate agent informs them the flight to Atlanta is late, and may cause them to miss their connection to Pensacola. They ask their options and realize there are none but to go onto Atlanta and hope for the best. I take a closer look at the guitar cases and see a black-and-white promotional sticker of one of the guys with a HUGE afro. I could SWEAR it said "Pantera". Although they could have been Pantera's grandchildren.......(Note - I've Googled every version of Pantera in Pensacola or "Pantenera" as my brain remembers it on the sticker...To no avail. Feel free to help me out here.)
• At security: Tall, dark haired woman in white pants and brown jacket. I notice her tip-toeing. And tip-toeing. In fact, she never STOPS tip-toeing. Tip-toes as she takes off her stilleto heels and puts them in the bin to send through security. Tip-toes through the body check in front of me. Tip-toes as she gets her things off the belt. And tip-toes all the way to a chair to put her stilettos back on. By now I've determined she's done permanent damage to her Achilles Tendons and is destined to forever walk like a Barbie Doll. (NOTE -- Getting off the plane in Atlanta I hear. "Oooooooooh! My legs hurt just WATCHING her walk, girl!" Me -- "Barbie Doll Girl???" She "Giiiiiirl! YES!!"
• 50ish looking woman standing at the checkin gate. She reminded me of Dr. Evil's girlfriend (from Austin Powers) in a frightening way. Her appearance: a) a short, brown, straight bob with straight across bangs; b) tiny, John Denver, silver framed glasses; c) a green, long, silky, patterned kimono type thing; d) a short, black, fur jacket; e) a green and white, plaid skirt peeking out of the left side slit of the kimono (??); and f) black, patent leather, lace up combat boots. Like a kindergartner who got to dress herself on a Saturday. A sight to behold.
• I always look for possible Mr Trixies in the boarding area. Who knows when he may sit next to me. The only possible suspect is the man with no wedding ring in black jeans, black sweater with a blue button-up underneath, and smart black shoes. I sit in 2a and he sits in 1c. I take a closer look at the smart shoes and realize they are too smart. Then I realize the black jeans are pressed. Then I realize he has that slight lilt in his voice. Sigh....Mr Trixie is gay.
• I'm originally assigned 2b - The aisle. As I am about to sit down, a man tells me he has the window seat, 2a. I realize immediately he's very tall (I'm not) and ask if he'd like the aisle. He eagerly accepts it. As I am getting settled in, I start to notice just how large this man is. Yes - He is very tall, and very broad, but beyond that - he's very, very overweight. He's obviously purchased a first class ticket because he may not fit in coach. I can automatically sense he is trying very hard to be invisible and unobtrusive. He hates that he has to be here, in front of all these people. I suddenly feel somehow guilty for being small. I do my best to help him out. He asks for water and it is placed on the banquette inbetween the seats. I ask for coffee and go to reach for the little extender under the banquette. His leg is so big, it blocks the extender. I look the other way and he moves his leg. I get it in place and say "Is that ok?" He barely smiles and says yes. When we're up, the attendants make their first round for drinks. He opts for nothing; I go for coffe again...This time with Bailey's. They bring around the snacks. He again opts for nothing. I piggishly take TWO packs of those yummy buttery, cinnamon cookies. Again around for drinks. Him nothing - Me another coffee and Bailey's. By now I have to pee. And I know he doesn't want to get up. That would mean undoing his extension, getting up and showing everyone how large he is. I sneak by unobtrusively and get back comfortably in my seat. By now, I'm feeling like a schmuck for ever thinking my jeans were too tight, or butt too big, or about that slight roll over the top of my low riders. This poor man tries for the entire flight to be no one. At the end of the flight, he was so polite. He took my bags down and sincerely thanked me for being a good seat mate. I almost cried.

This was just a few hours. I swear. Airports. If I had taken notes every time I had been in one in my life? I could write the epic novel of the century!