I’m in the window seat, trying and failing to redirect the tiny round overhead fan that’s fiercely blowing in my face. The woman assigned to the seat next to me arrives and lifts her carry-on into the overhead bin, then takes a small black container and gently slides it under the seat in front of her.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “It’s just an hour or so.”
After the woman buckles in, I ask, “Who’s traveling with you?”
“Maisie,” she says, smiling. Then she slides the carrier from beneath the seat, unzips it, and two large brown eyes stare up at me. I don’t know what kind of dog it is, but it’s small and shaggy — and extremely mellow.
“So, I guess Maisie is used to flying,” I say.
“Oh yes,” she says. “She should have frequent-flyer miles. I go see my daughter in Atlanta several times a year and I’m her emotional support animal,” she laughs.
Maisie soon closes her eyes and snuggles back in for the ride. I suspect there may be sedatives involved and I’m envious. The woman opens a novel and I open my Kindle and we’re off. Ninety minutes later, as we descend into ATL, my seat-mate sees me looking at my phone and shaking my head.
“Tight connection?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “My flight to Memphis starts boarding 15 minutes after we land and it’s four concourses away, so I’ll have to scoot to the shuttle train.”
“I’ll let you get off first,” she says. “You’ll make it.”
Once we’re at the gate, those of us with tight connections are standing in the aisle, calculating our odds. Then the cheery flight attendant says, “Bear with us. We’re training a new jet bridge operator.” Groans ensue. Finally, the trainee nails the landing. My Delta app says my flight starts boarding in five minutes, meaning I have 35 minutes to get from Gate C11 to Gate F2 before they close the plane doors. Gimme a fast train!
I hustle down the escalator and catch one just as the doors are closing. Yes! Then, dear reader, comes an experience I still have trouble believing actually happened.
There are maybe eight people on the car, all caught up in their own thoughts, except for one guy. He’s young, tall, and bearded, and he’s talking to an older man. And by talking, I mean he is enunciating as though he is on a podcast. The older fellow is nodding his approval like a human bobblehead.
“I don’t like five-dollar-a-gallon gasoline any more than the next guy,” the man says in his best Sean Hannity voice, “but too many Americans just don’t understand that it’s the price that we have to pay to ensure that Iran doesn’t have a nuclear weapon.”
The guy is obviously wanting everyone on the train car to hear his lecture. Does he just ride around doing this all day, I wonder? I look at the other passengers, but they ignore him.
“And just think about the precision of the Venezuela operation,” young JD Vance continues. “We went there with an airtight mission plan and completed it without a single casualty. That’s just remarkable, and the American people need to understand that that oil is going to be flowing into our gas tanks soon. This president knows exactly what he’s doing!”
This goes on (and on!) as the train rolls to Concourse D and Concourse E. Passengers enter and exit, and this human bot continues his Trumper TED talk. Now I’m thinking this must be some sort of guerrilla political advertising. I see a few eyes roll but still, no one says anything. I start working up a one-liner for my exit, figuring I could say something like, “Must be hard to talk with all that sh-t in your mouth,” then hop off the train and flip him the bird, leaving him shocked into silence by the crazy old communist.
But alas, it’s not to be. At Concourse F, the MAGA-doofus and his audience of one step off in front of me and speed-walk to Gate 2. When I finally enter the plane, I can hear the guy still loudly pontificating, and he’s seated in first class! I’ve never been happier to be sitting near the back of an airplane. By the way, this guy is probably somewhere in Memphis. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
