The Red-Faced Traveler
Many years ago, around Christmas time, Peter and I were in some airport. I am not sure where we were, but I do know that we were on our way back home. There was a long delay in our flight. We sat patiently, tired and bored, staring at the television screen blankly, without really absorbing the images. We sat next to each other not speaking. Peter leaned back and did the thing he did best when he was waiting at a doctor’s office or at planetariums leaning back looking at simulated heavens or a concert that bored him, he closed his eyes and began snoring softly.
He was awakened by a man walking around waving his arms about and yelling at the top of his voice. His face was red with anger. Everyone looked at him with curiosity and alarm. Peter sat up. He eyed the man as if he was a potential candidate for the lunatic asylum. He gently put a protective arm around me and said softly, “Let’s move somewhere else. This man is not quite together.”
We got up and sauntered away as casually as we could, somewhere away from him. Peter never stopped keeping an eye on him. The man was at times silent but at other times flared up with agitation. I must admit his behavior made me feel anxious. I am known for my vivid imagination, but this time I knew that there was reason to be concerned.
There was quite a long delay in our fight and we were tired. Sitting in an airport for hours on end, is not anyone’s favourite occupation. It was bothersome and extremely dull. At last, our flight was called. As we queued to board, Peter commented that he hoped we would not be sitting near the madman. We did not. It was a pleasant flight. There were no crying babies or people jostling your seat from the back and jolting you awake from your snooze. It did not feel crammed like tightly packed sardines in a can. Peter and I leaned into each other and dozed off and on.
Finally, we landed at JFK. It was a long flight and the delay at the previous airport had somewhat tired us. We were looking forward to getting home and sleeping in our own bed. I imagined myself stretching out languorously in our bed and looking forward to my pillow and our warm eiderdown covers. I smiled to myself in anticipation and hugged Peter’s arm affectionately!
We had forgotten about the mad man, for he had calmed down during the flight. However, as soon as we got to the airport, he started his loud monologue once more. This time though, I noticed that there was a wire going up from his jacket to his ear. He was talking on his cell phone! He was not mad at all!
In those years, the cell phone was not so common in the United States. It had not yet become a necessary fad! Not too many people owned one; but in England, it was a fad. During our last visit there, we had noticed people with cell phones attached to their ears as they casually walked along the streets of London.
I sighed with relief. “Peter! Peter! He is not mad at all. He is speaking on a cell phone!”
That became a little joke between us.
“What do I know? I’m just a boy from Brooklyn,” he would say.
It did not take too long before the cell phone took over the world. In those days they were not! Now whether you need one or not, you have one. People get upset at me because mine lives mostly in my handbag. So tell me what do I have a house line for? One is for the house and one is for the bag, just in case of an emergency, no?