Heading to Chi Town for a Connection

So many thoughts like:

1. Why does someone with really cool style seem suddenly way less attractive when they’re walking beside a sibling/friend with a similar outfit

2. Why was that security guard’s head so shiny

And many more, such as- assuming she always listens to her music this loudly, how does the girl two seats away from me still maintain the ability to hear?

But first, I must eat the other half of my burrito.

After soaking in her juices for a couple hours, as leftovers typically do, my measly vegetarian burrito is failing to live up to her glory days back at the taqueria. I was hot back then, she says. Now, she’s soggy and, according to my stomach, a little sickening. But I’m eating her anyway because I am stuck in Phoenix for 3 hours and I insist on killing time in any way I can. The disgusted look from the man across the way will be no deterrence, this burrito has but one fate.

Airports are overly-stimulating, and almost too personal. Boil it down and sure, it’s a hub people use to navigate travel, but if you really look around, an airport is actually a human zoo.

Exhibits can range. On one end of the spectrum we have the pink skinned, checkered van wearing, curly haired ginger preteen standing an uncomfortably close distance to both myself and the garbage can. On the other end, I’ve got slews of aimless security guards- results from when God mistook big toes for heads and created a defective batch of humans he couldn’t quite throw away.

A personal favorite zoo exhibit of mine is the breaking family- a father who’s panicked expression brings us all back to 127 hours, he is usually the one to give a verbal indication that he is about to crack. Then we have the mother who tends to seem more quiet yet removed, like the calm before a hurricane. Last of course there are the kids. They are always 2 years old even when they’re 9, and they have absolutely no idea of what havoc they will bring to their later divorced and painfully depressed parents. The family is breaking and the manifestations of their disaster are staring straight into my soul. Or maybe -maybe- they are a perfectly normal family, and this is just what a glimpse in time has shown me.

Vulnerability, at its finest.

What a great place to be yourself in a room full of strangers, with no constraints of self-imposed identifiers. I want to know how many people in this crowd RIGHT now are unsure if they’re gay. I want to conduct an old fashioned, hand raising poll and just go for the jugular with the questions we are all wondering. Who thinks they will never find love? Who is afraid of death? Who else thinks we should be refocusing our military efforts to declaring a war on graphic tees?

Most importantly,

Why do middle aged white men look like mice? Is that just a bias I have or what? Shauna agrees and says they also smell like cheese so this is going to have to be addressed at a later point.

Given some digestion time, I’m not sure that the burrito was a good call. I wish I could tell that man who tried to warn me with his narrowed eyes and scrunched nose that yes, he was right.

He’s gone though, like he was never here. And soon, I will be too. Meanwhile, in all this time anyone who has looked my way has assumed something about me. Something that they drew from the context around me to define me, something I will likely never get to hear about or validate for them. Right now, we are all untold stories that don’t matter because they are ultimately just assumptions fluttering by to pass the time. In truth? Not a bad way to kill a couple hours.

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