One of the Games I Play

My parents and I have a game we play at the airport. We pick people out and come up with their story.

That guy over there is from Saginaw, MI. He’s worked for Acme Steel for 25 years, but is worried about his job due to the economy. He’s been married to the lady next to him for 23 years. They have two daughters. She’s a school teacher-music teacher for the middle school to be exact. They are off to their niece’s wedding in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but he is dreading the trip because her mom has never liked him and doesn’t hide it.

This young woman is on her first business trip by herself. She just got her first job (graduated from William and Mary) with Pfizer and is really nervous about this trip to Kansas City. It didn’t help that she got into a big fight with her boyfriend this morning before she left.

I’ve even played this game with friends-did it out with the guys in Phoenix a few weeks ago. We didn’t get that far into details (ok, I helped them figure out which cougar would be content with just a dance, and they pointed out why I have trouble with guys just by looking at the ones I thought were cute.) It’s a fun game to play. Try it some time. (Oh, and count cowboy hats. You’ll see at least 3 every time you fly. Doesn’t matter where you’re going. It just happens.)

I played this last night to keep myself out of a funk. The guy I sat next to on the second plane must have an interesting story. He was so polite and so eager to talk. He also looked really sick. Either cancer or AIDs. I was too wrapped up in my own issues that I blanketed myself with magazines so I didn’t have to talk. Interesting that this was the first time I played this game and it ended in disease or “I wonder how many people are traveling to/from a funeral.”

But sometimes this game worries me. What do people come up with when their first look at me? One of dad’s cowboy buddies told me he thought I was really shy. P’s friends thought I was a snob. Is that really what I show right off the bat? Gotta figure out a way to get beyond that…

One Comment

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*