I Feel the Urge

What does one do in O’hare?   I have a ten hour lay-over.  Yes.  Ten hours.  My own damn fault, I missed a flight the day before.  Rerouted, I didn’t have many choices.  And so I am back in the U.S.A.  Walking past the brontosaurus fossil I have my gym-mix up in my ears and bang, just like that, Spencer Davis Group’s “I’m A Man” comes up in the ears and I walk through the crowd of countrymen oblivious, like I was born to pimp-strut.

Admitted to the lounge, I occupy a seat by the window with a view down on to the concourse.   Across the way are a young couple.  The fella hops on a call and explains to everyone within earshot that he and his gal are off to Ireland.  They have a great deal.  It is cheaper now, somehow, after St. Patrick's Day. They will only go to Dublin and Galway.  They don’t look particularly Irish.  I feel the urge, of course, to connect, and say: “Gee, I have opinions about your trip.”  And I keep silent and consider them stealthily.

United has provided us with a big bowl of mac&cheese.  I don’t really want mac&cheese.  There is also a salad.  I’ve eaten a bowl.  There are big hunks of cheddar cheese which are fine to mount atop your salad.  There is also a vat of minestrone soup, but it's largely gone and you need to tilt the bowl and scrape the ladle to get much of anything.  

Over at the bar I’ve opened a tab.  "Hey, I’ll be here for seven more hours."  "Would you like our bottom shelf, completely unappealing, char-don-ey for free, or a glass of something that looks reasonable?"  "Reasonable please."  And I establish a rapport with the bar lady whom I hope will remember me.

I have a mission.  I must get a book.  Not just any book.  I feel uncomfortable.  I am heading to a new land and I do not have the Lonely Planet to explain things.  I have had the Lonely Planet to explain things in 48 or the last 49 places I’ve been to.  I ordered the book, but was unable to rendezvous with a friend when I last past through San Francisco whose house I’d sent it to.  I want the Lonely Planet Brazil.

Searching I find a store that has books.  More books, at least, than the store with the magazines.  The lady behind the counter is maximum helpful.  “Yes.  We have a Lonely Planet Section”  Ahh, but it is bereft of anything concerning Brazil.  Bummer.  “We” she suggests “have many stores.”  She makes a call, confirms a thing or two and soon I am plodding over to their other store the other terminal. 

Back in the lounge “my” seat has been taken, by another young couple.  I sit opposite them and brood.  She is blond and vaguely attractive, in a dim sort of way.  He also appears to be dim.  Dimmer, certainly.   He looks like he’s ready to start a fight with the salad bar.  I consider their interaction.  They seem to be in love and I soften everything I have otherwise thought. 

Monday, 3/18/19