The Whistling Hairdresser

When I take my seat on an airplane, I immediately begin to spin my cocoon. I have my books, my water, maybe a snack or two, a back support and a couple of pillows and a blanket. All I want to do is snuggle down, read and/or sleep. I don't want to meet you. I don't want to know about your job or your wife and kiddies or your political philosophy. I don't want to know diddly about you. Leave me the hell alone! People usually do. I obviously emit a clear "leave me alone" vibe.

It is apparent that a good number of people flying hither and yon are desperate for social contact. Poor things. They seem somehow compelled to foist themselves on their fellow passengers. One such needy soul shared my row on the last leg of my trip home this weekend. He was quite gregarious and talkative. The MOST unfortunate thing was that he had a slight speech impediment. I'll bet he doesn't even know he does this. He whistles. Every time he makes an "S" sound...he whistles. Oh so briefly...but rather sharply. Since he was talking loudly enough to "impress" all of us within a 20-foot radius, each whistle was like a stab to the heart.

Sitting between us was an attractive young lady named Sara. This guy had apparently attended one of those seminars where they teach you to use the person's name frequently in your conversation in order to "bond" with them. He did...he whistled "Sara" every chance he got. And he got a lot of chances, for he counseled her on practically every life passage facing her. To make matters worse, the guy is a hairdresser. And he is being treated for cancer. This means he's had quite a bit of sickness in his recent life. He was opening another salon, in spite of it all. Do you realize how many "S" sounds are hidden among all those topics?

Just as I wished for a "non-cell phone section" in the terminal, I dearly wish there was a "non-talking section" on planes. Or, in this case, a "non-whistling section."