We’ve boarded our flight at O’Hare, hoping to get to Philadelphia. The flight is already 40 minutes late; the pilot has just announced a further 20-minute hold, and has re-allowed the use of cellphones. A woman two rows ahead of me has called what is presumably her SO and begun a loud conversation, as follows:
“My flight leaves in 20 minutes. I’ve decided you have to meet me at the airport.”
“I know we agreed I’d take a taxi. But I don’t care - I’ve had a rough day and you have to pick me up.”
“I don’t care what plans you made - you have to pick me up!”
“Look - I don’t care what we said, I don’t care about your plans, I don’t care what the driving is like - you have to pick me up!!”
She then closed her phone and gave no indication she was aware that at least 20 people were exchanging wide-eyed expressions of wonder.
In the “insufferable woman on the phone” category, that’s right up there with one my wife once overheard in the next stall in the women’s bathroom of a fairly expensive Manhattan restaurant.
Insufferable Woman answers her phone while in the stall, and begins talking to a guy, named something like Tom.
“Hello? Hi Tom. Yes, I’m at <restaurant>. I’m already inside. Yes. Yes! I’ve been here for a while now!”
(pause while Tom evidently complains about not being able to meet up with her)
On Friday I overheard a twenty-something young man on the ALRT trying to worm his way into a party he wasn’t invited to. Loudly. He called at least three people that he knew were invited, and tried to tag along with them, only to be refused each time. Failing that, he’d try to get an address out of them – you know, just in case someone invited him later. Then he’d trade up for a bit and call his friends (also not invited) and tell them that he was almost invited, and that for sure he’d be able to get them in.
It wasn’t really the gall of the attempted gatecrashing that shocked me – it’s more that such total unselfconsciousness could exist in the youth of today. Didn’t he care how many people knew that he was the sort of sad fucker perennially left off the invite list? He may as well have been wearing a T-shirt that said “Hi, I’m the lamest fucker you’re going to meet today!”
I hope he found out where the party was, and it turned out to be the sort of party where drunk Uni boys kick the snot out of gatecrashers. Fuck, he was annoying.
One I overheard in the grocery store the other day, from the aisle next to mine:
“… and I don’t give a FUCK what you have to do, get us in to that bank!”
A few seconds of silence.
“What the hell is the problem? I gave him six pounds of C-4, if that’s not enough to do the damn job just have Howie bring in the tankbuster.”
At this point I rounded the corner. The speaker was a early twenties-ish man who practically screamed ‘college nerd’.
“Ok then. Once we’re in we can load up and have Stacy fly the haul out. Hey - you want Dew or Livewire? 'kay.” Then he hung up, grabbed a 2-liter of Dew, and left, whistling cheerfully.
I really wish I’d thought to ask him what system he was playing, because it sounded kinda fun.
