She chatted with her son, who then “put daddy on the phone” so she could debrief her husband. She came up for air and quenched her thirst before launching into the next round of
calls, one each to the three girlfriends she’d spent the weekend with, punctuated with the appropriate “OMG’s” and “whatever’s” every few seconds followed by enough giggles to make me gag. She spent an extra 5 minutes thanking her hostess with the mostest and cackling with amusement until I was beginning to seethe with evil thoughts.
In the midst of the chaos of this large social gathering called O’Hare Airport, I only wanted a quiet little spot I could call my own. Aren’t we all entitled to that? Some of us obviously think we’re entitled to more than our fair share.
I’ll give her credit, although very, very little. She was turned slightly in her seat, facing more towards the bank of windows to her right. Her position did little to minimize the intrusion. I think her voice just bounced off the glass and shattered into a million shards of abrasive commentary otherwise known as a 'halfalogue' in cell phone circles.
I regretted leaving my iPod at home. In fact, I regretted taking a seat across the aisle from Chatty Cathy within minutes of getting settled, laptop and momentum finally ready for some much needed action if I was going to make tomorrow’s blog deadline.
I truly love the travel part of my blog (duh!) and love the blogging that goes with traveling (was that a little redundant?). I just had no idea the balancing act required to run both concurrently, especially in public places where halfalogues (I love that word!) tend to occur with maddening frequency.
Maddening is certainly the operative word here. New evidence suggests our brains truly have to work overtime to fill in the blanks when we hear only half of a conversation. Most of us (I can't speak for those of you with a need to be nosy) don’t really want to listen, but the context makes it difficult to ignore as we try to make sense of half of the verbal information coming our way. We literally can’t stop listening, which means whatever we’re trying to do goes to hell in a hand basket. There’s road rage on our highways; welcome to “cell hell”, those pockets of verbal abuse popping up almost everywhere two or more people congregate.
Jim did the smart thing. He got up and went in search of a cup of coffee and something sweet to eat.
I gave up trying to string two sentences together for my blog although I did come up with this business card. I think it's very appropriate given people like Chatty Cathy don't seem to mind making their business my business. Handing these out may be a finger in the dike, but at least it keeps me from stewing in silence or adding to the verbal abuse with the finger.