I sat next to this 50-something-year-old junkie drunkie psychopath (see pic...BTW, he gives a new meaning to the phrase "TwitPic") on my airplane ride home from Honolulu to Hilo last night. He kept asking me if I wanted to smoke a joint (one look at him and I know pot smoking has an ill effect on people's personalities and their potential). He also wanted to know where I was from. Both questions were asked over and over again. So annoying!
When I started taking pictures out of the airplane window he was convinced I was a KGB or German spy. "What are you taking pictures of," he demanded. 'Uh, clouds,' I replied. He accused me several times. He said he'd recently read a spy book and I fit the description. Yes, I looked like one. I must be one! This made me nervous. I mean, how do you get the steward/stewardess' attention when you're pinned up against the window and the way to escape the cuckoo is to fly over his nest? I kept thinking if he lunged to choke me I'd simply poke both his eyes out at the same time. I was prepared!
It was a long flight. When we finally landed, this poster child (who has obviously never grown up!) of wasted humanity stood up and, thankfully, became infatuated with someone else. I stayed in my seat as he moved forward down the center aisle. When there were a few people between us I finally gathered courage. I couldn't help myself. I blurted it out. "Da comrade. Ya govaroo po russkey yazzik. Ya KGB! Harasho! Da! His eyes grew as big as saucers. I'd hit the jackpot. My two-and-a-half years of conversational Russian had paid off in a big way, accent and all. After debarkation, I ended up turning the other way and finding another exit out of the airport, disappearing into the night...just like a seasoned spy would do. Bet he's having fun sharing a drinking and toking at the local convenience store, telling everyone he met someone from the KGB! Da...DOH!
When I started taking pictures out of the airplane window he was convinced I was a KGB or German spy. "What are you taking pictures of," he demanded. 'Uh, clouds,' I replied. He accused me several times. He said he'd recently read a spy book and I fit the description. Yes, I looked like one. I must be one! This made me nervous. I mean, how do you get the steward/stewardess' attention when you're pinned up against the window and the way to escape the cuckoo is to fly over his nest? I kept thinking if he lunged to choke me I'd simply poke both his eyes out at the same time. I was prepared!
It was a long flight. When we finally landed, this poster child (who has obviously never grown up!) of wasted humanity stood up and, thankfully, became infatuated with someone else. I stayed in my seat as he moved forward down the center aisle. When there were a few people between us I finally gathered courage. I couldn't help myself. I blurted it out. "Da comrade. Ya govaroo po russkey yazzik. Ya KGB! Harasho! Da! His eyes grew as big as saucers. I'd hit the jackpot. My two-and-a-half years of conversational Russian had paid off in a big way, accent and all. After debarkation, I ended up turning the other way and finding another exit out of the airport, disappearing into the night...just like a seasoned spy would do. Bet he's having fun sharing a drinking and toking at the local convenience store, telling everyone he met someone from the KGB! Da...DOH!
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