Crazy Lady #3

I would like to first preface this post by saying, although this represents my third "Crazy Lady" post it by no means is meant to construe a disproportional representation of crazy women. There are are "Crazy Men" that I will mention when they present themselves as minor characters in this drama. For now the plot is building with a fairly constant stream of crazy ladies.

I met Crazy Lady #3 on my return flight from Dallas Cup. Now Josh can attest not only to this lady's craziness, but also to the the resounding misfortune I have with airplane neighbors. I had just settled into seat 16D, a more spacious exit row, when she immediately turns to me and begins to talk me up. Acrylic red framed glasses nest in her auburn/purple hair. Here sideburns sculpt an amazing swoosh about her ears. She wears all black, clearly signaling a woman of design taste as her left hand cradles a Lamy and a bejeweled red bracelet accents her right wrist. She dons a sheek black pencil skirt and a long necklace of multi-colored tumbled glass (think taste the rainbow). I catch myself staring at this woman, mind wondering if she in an unknown teacher at Hogwarts. The clencher is a magnificent diamond rock whose brilliance could out shine the sun. It sheer radiating magnitude comfortably places it in the four carat family.

An impassioned jubilant dame she eagerly begins asking questions about me. Running through the standard quid pro quo of airline neighbor questions we are now ready to engage in truly meaningful conversation. At this point her booming energized voice has forced Josh to disobey the flight attendant; plugging in his iPod, praying for escape by sleep. Resoundingly thrown under the bus, I reluctantly return my attention to the conversation; one more of take than give.

An AP French and English teacher in Anchorage, my crazy lady rattles off story after story about the joys of teaching, the quest for a life of knowledge, and why she is pursuing a second PhD. She is a contradiction wrapped in a conundrum. Adamantly liberal she sweats praises for President Obama while simultaneously speaking of the conservative oil tycoon who placed that 'little gem' upon her finger. She waivers between the need for an alternative energy economy while describing guilt in the bounty black gold has gifted her. In one short breath she laments for a withdrawal from Iraq and the misguided decision to invade then shifts to the life story of her Marine brother. She giggles at the way she makes Laura Bush uncomfortable during big Texas events and then switches the babble to some other loosely connected tangent. I find myself not only regretting my seating selection but oddly feeling sorry for Mrs. Bush. Hoping to time a pause in her conversation with the insertion of earbuds, I earnestly wait for her to surface for air.

No sooner am I relinquishing all hope for relief when the drink cart arrives. All praise the powers of booze. I defer to the woman (after all ladies first) before making my drink selection. She orders two Jack and Cokes. A wry grin sneaks across my face as I elect to forgo the adult beverage selection. The conversation slows only enough so she can inhale her libations; mama needs her juice. After the last drop of medicine is sucked from the bottom of a clear plastic cup the cadence, energy, and speed of the conversation accelerates. I thank the pilot for requiring me to wear my seat belt. Like a kid ramping up during a sugar high, I hold on praying for an immediate crash. And then passes out, her mouth agape as she sucks recycled air. Quivering lips and an occasional snore are the only distractions from my neighbor for the next two hours. The silence awakens Josh who looks at me stunned. I give him a polite shrug and a devious grin and return to my pages in seat 16D.