Chatter

I’m sitting on the Chinatown bus in Philadelphia waiting to go to Washington D.C. and the man in the seat behind me is on his cell phone talking to his wife/girlfriend/ partner who just dropped him off and is herself driving home in their car. I know all this— which I don’t want to know— because I can hear every word he says through the crack in the seats. As soon as the bus leaves Chinatown and heads south along the river, he’s on the phone again, this time to someone he’s meeting in D.C. They proceed to have a 30-minute conversation about how the third person they’re meeting in D.C. screwed up by not getting in touch with them sooner so they could coordinate everyone’s arrival better: “I’m counting on the bus to not take more than two and a half hours or I’m going to be late for the meeting. So and so should have made her reservations weeks ago so we could have arranged to come in on our flights close to the same time. I know, I know, it’s too late to do anything about it now but . . . “ and on and on and on.

About half way to Baltimore (the guy is still on the phone) the bus pulls into a rest stop and we sit there for awhile until some of the passengers start wondering aloud if this is a scheduled stop or what’s going on. An Asian gentleman then approaches the rear of the bus where we’re sitting and explains that he’s having to translate for the two people who were on the bus from New York but slept through the stop in Philadelphia where they were supposed to get off. When they woke up and realized where they were they approached the bus driver and asked him to take them back to Philadelphia. The translator says, “We’re trying to decide whether to turn around and take them back to Philadelphia or continue on to Baltimore where they can catch a later bus back.”

Up jumps the cell phone guy who starts in, “There is no way this bus is going to go back to Philadelphia. I’m already late as it is. These people need to take responsibility for themselves.” That’s right, a chorus of voices ring out. We’ve paid good money (the Chinatown bus costs $15, as opposed to Amtrak’s $60 to $80) to get us on time to D.C. and we can’t go back because two passengers missed their stop! The woman in the seat in front of me wakes up and asks what’s going on. I explain the situation and she says, “I heard them come through the bus when we stopped and yell out ‘Philadelphia, Philadelphia,’ at least a couple of times.” I answered her, “I wish I could sleep that soundly.”

Several days later I’m sitting in the Philadelphia airport waiting for a flight that’s two hours late, knowing I’m probably going to miss my connection home. Sitting next to me is a young woman waiting for the same flight who decides to pass the time talking to her sister, who is also sitting in an airport waiting for a flight. They are both going home for Thanksgiving. No one wants to give up their seat in the waiting room because the room is packed and you’ll end up on the floor if you do. So I listen to her tell her sister every excruciating detail of her trip to the airport, what’s going on in the airport, what she’s got in her suitcase (five pairs of shoes for her four day stay), how her sister can possibly survive four days with only a backpack for a suitcase, etc., etc.

I actually need to talk on a phone because I have to call Mark and tell him to cancel my surgery for the next day (how crazy was I to schedule hand surgery on the day before Thanksgiving and then actually try to get home on time?) and give me the phone number of our friends in Chicago who I’m probably going to have to stay with when I miss my connecting flight home. I pile all my possessions on my chair while I go find a pay phone, for which my calling card company charges me ten times what they charge from a regular phone, and hope all my stuff is still on my chair when I return.

I do end up staying the night in Chicago with our friends, who can’t believe I don’t have a cell phone so I can call them when I get off the train at the stop near their house, The next morning I’m back again at O’Hare Airport waiting to catch my plane to Albuquerque. A young man in his late twenties or early thirties is pacing the floor with his cell phone, speaking loudly in what I think is an Australian accent, talking to his wife/girlfriend/partner about the fact that he is about to get on the plane and that the plan for New Year’s Eve at the hot springs outside of Denver is just “awesome” and that it’s going to be so powerful, the best celebration yet. Then he tells her goodbye, and as we’re walking down the ramp onto the plane (he’s right behind me) he’s on the phone with someone else explaining that the celebration at the hot springs is going to be truly “awesome” because 30 of his closest friends have already said they’re coming and can you believe how fabulous it’s going to be, better than last year, truly outstanding.

Of course, there he is when we get on the plane, sitting right in front of me and he tells two more people about the hot springs gig before they make everyone turn off their cell phones. But do I finally get a reprieve from the constant chatter than has taken over every public place and ruined it with private bullshit? Not on your life. It turns out that the guy sitting next to him is a student at a seminary and that the hot springs gig that the Australian (turns out he’s from New Zealand) has been raving about is some spiritual gathering that he and his “closest 30 friends” have been going to for the last few years. So naturally, their conversation turns to religion and they are off to the races. For the next hour they engage in a spirited dialogue regarding the church doctrine espoused by the seminary student and the freewheeling Christianity celebrated by the New Zealander. There’s a lot of scripture quoting, scripture interpretation, discussion of the merits of various popes, discussion of dogma regarding who’s going to heaven and hell, ad nauseum. While the New Zealander challenges the seminary student on a lot of his fundamentalist rap defending the church, it’s within the context of the sanctity of Christianity, and I’m hoping (I don’t pray) there’s not a Muslim or a Jew across the isle.

Finally, after a free bloody Mary from the airline attendant, who I’ve consulted about airplane etiquette, I’ve had enough. When the seminary student starts in about homosexuality being an abomination I stand up and say, “That’s it. I’ve listened to this crap for almost an hour but I’m not going to sit here and listen to offensive talk about homosexuality. You’ve offended any number of people on this plane, particularly me, and it’s got to stop.”

And it did. They listened to their iPods for the rest of the flight, and the guy sitting next to me bought me another bloody Mary.

Solution: Never leave home.