My picture is of a man who is Judd Hirsch's doppelganger, or at least a first cousin. He is looking very smug, giving a slight smirk to the camera, with his legs crossed in an airplane aisle seat. He has big old man glasses, a maroon turtleneck, and a matching handkerchief in his jacket's breast pocket. He looks very put together. He's holding a massive hardback copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace, he has it open near the beginning.
Why do they have to assign seats? Really? Why isn't anyone sitting next to me? God, I wish they had just assigned someone here! And the chap next to me has been sleeping this whole flight. We have less than an hour before we land at O'Hare and I've been reading this entire time! All I want is for someone to appreciate the time it took to not only put together this outfit, but to earn the income to afford such things. And the price of a plane ticket on top of that. And here I am, with Tolstoy's epic monster open and not one person has bothered to say anything to me this whole time.
Do they think I'd really lug this heffer around for such a short flight? No! Of course not! I have as much interest for Tolstoy as I have for...whatever! I just need someone to look at me and say to themselves, 'Now there's what I'd call an interesting, well-read, well-bred sort of fellow. Someone important. Someone I should strike up a conversation with. ' Sure they'd have to move seats temporarily (big deal) or just wake up for some portion of the flight, but I guess that would be just too much effort.
Maybe I'll keep going. Maybe I could just stay here for the next flight to wherever they said it was- Pittsburgh?- and then surely someone has to sit next to me, someone awake and coherent.
I might just do that. Someone will have to sit near me, and when they do, they'll have to say something! That's just manners.