So, I vicariously lived the life of a woman's handbag last night, thanks to a special friend (you know who you are) who toted me through the length and breadth of O'Hare last night on her way to a flight. It was delayed, else we would never have made it in time. I went through the x-ray machine, I went to the restroom, I sat on the floor while she checked in, I stood in line while cappucino and danish were ordered, I waited on the seat while carry-on items were safely stowed in the overhead bin. It was great--and at the end, I knew exactly how one's purse feels. There to hear every conversation, there to endure every long wait and line full of cranky people. I enjoyed even (and especially) the conversations that the human has with herself as she tries to find the correct gate after an airline switch. Who knew that you could run a phone through the x-ray machine and not drop the call, anyway? That was the coolest part. I could hear the machine running, then all the voices and people and bumpings of baggage as I came out the other end. Now we know.
Also, found out that "vicariously" has the same root as "vicar." A substitute or representative.
lol, I can't believe you didn't just hang up! :)
ReplyDeleteThis is hilarious!
ReplyDeleteSee, at the very least, this is a testament to how boring my life is--I'd rather be a purse than nothing at all. ;)
ReplyDeleteBut I seriously had fun!! I know the airport, it was like being there, and there's just nothing like being the kind of friend who waits on the phone while someone else goes to the bathroom. :D