When I was in the airport Friday, I saw a guy across the terminal. He was big—build like a former linebacker (heavy but not so much muscle) with big gauged piercings in both ears; they were easy to see because his head was shaved. He was wearing a black t-shirt that said on the back, “Trample the weak, hurdle the dead.” Pretty scary guy. When they started boarding my flight, he got on. When it was my turn, I found him sitting in the aisle seat of my row. He was polite enough about letting me get settled, and after we took off he ordered vodka: four mini-bottles. He mixed them carefully with ice and cranberry apple juice, knocked them back, and ordered four more. At that point I was really praying that he wasn’t a mean drunk. He was between me and the door, and big enough to squash me like a bug. Surprisingly, he turned to me and started chatting. Turns out he’s in telecommunications. He even smiled at me in the terminal. You just never know.
Scott and I got a lot of work done. We closed some of the black holes in the plot and moved chapters around, and he has a deadline to get his changes to me. We both agreed that future work together needs to be limited to consultation rather than collaboration unless we have one state line or less between us, and we agreed that we need to get this project over and done with so we can both move on to other things. I also looked over his computer to see if I could help with the technical difficulties and decided he needs a typewriter. Editing is more of a pain, but typed pages can be faxed and scanned!
All in all, it was worth the trip, but I’m just about completely fried at this point. I’m writing this in the airport because I lack the concentration to read! I still have an hour or so before my flight boards, and then I have an hour train ride home after my flight, so I still have many miles to go before I sleep. The good news is that the airport is busy but not swamped, so I can sit back and watch people (or football—the Rams are winning; how’d that happen?) while I wait. I think I’d better relax a little while I can—I have my work cut out for me.