Halifax. We flew for most

July 09, 2003

Halifax. We flew for most of yesterday and I slept most of the way. I will sarcastically call the guy sitting beside me “Chuckles”. Chuckles was in my seat when I boarded just before the doors closed. I smiled and quietly said, “Hi. I’m sorry but I think I’m in 35A”. He did not reply or make eye contact but slowly closed his book, stood up and moved to the aisle to let me through to the window. I noticed he was reading a book on professional poker playing and assumed he might just be practicing his game face. It may be he felt I should be blamed for him ending up with a middle seat. This would be a full flight across almost the whole country and I wasn’t going to be “nice” enough to give up the seat our travel agent had worked so hard to secure in advance. If he had appeared the slightest bit infirm or worthy I would have capitulated. He, however, appeared healthy and surly.
If you fly a lot you notice an armrest hog right away. I checked it out and confirmed that he had also taken the other guys arm rest. I guess the middle person should get two for having to sit there? At one point he raised his left knee and put his foot on the back of the chair in front to sit with his left knee up above, and slightly across, my tray table. Space invader (He’s a momma papa comin'’ for you ... for all you Bowie fans).
His cell phone rang about ten minutes into the flight. I first thought, “wow. they ring up here.” Then I was reminded of the people making in-flight calls during the 911 incidents. Then I thought, “if they’re telling us not to use cell phones on the flight perhaps they may actually interfere with navigational equipment”. Then I thought charitably, “perhaps he just forgot to turn it off”. Then I thought less charitably, “all these actions are leading me to the asshole judgment”. He actually snorted quietly when I smiled and said, “I’m really sorry to disturb you but I’m going to have to get up to go to the bathroom”. Rolling his eyes he slammed up his tray table and made the extreme sacrifice. My “thank you” was met with silence.
The in-flight movie was “Old School”. I thought, “I don’t care if its all cut up. Will Farrell will always be funny”. During the most sophomorically funny bits I looked over to see what Chuckles was doing. He was watching solemnly. His facial expression hadn’t changed. CompleteIy wooden. I had tears rolling down my face as I was in the perfectly exhausted and captive frame of mind to enjoy the slapstick elements. He took off his headphones soon after this scene in what I assumed to be an attempt to further assert his power over the infantile rabble around him. He was above this movie. I knew now that he was either an asshole, a hit man or a poker player extremely dedicated to his art. This was like Ghandi practicing celibacy by sleeping in the same bed with a woman but not touching her (just an interesting idea). Chuckles was using this opportunity to practice his poker personna --bullish, resolute, unemotional, selfish, serious, cutthroat, arrogant and detached. Maybe the book he was reading suggested certain techniques of practiced visualization and he was just trying them out. He was prepping for the big cigar chomping, high stakes, nail biter taking place tonight in some Halifax back room. Here he would use his in-flight hours of asshole discipline and meditation to stare down maritime mobsters, lobster poachers, off duty naval officers, Irving Oil executives and other cantankerous pirates.
As he wordlessly snatched the newspaper from out of the chair back in front of me and moved stone faced down the aisle of the plane I hoped there might be trouble in the back room tonight. I hoped he got to test his metal against some serious heavies. That way my discomfort would have been worth it. He may know when to hold ‘em but who knows if he knew how to fold ‘em. Maybe when the big dogs bit into him today's training wasn’t going to be enough for him. This might be a good thing. No one should get positive reinforcement for skills in thug kinesiology. If he had to learn it from that book then he was already out of his league. Ironically the school of hard knocks can produce some pretty nice folks. This guy was probably working his way down from being born with the silver spoon in his mouth to a wiseguy with a chromed revolver.
Good luck Chuckles.