What's your story, friend?

Wednesday night, I was on a night flight out of Boston, significantly delayed because of wind somewhere elsewhere, like Chicago, keeping our plane from making it to us. As we 60+ slightly peeved passengers sat waiting at the small gate, with the squalky child and two yappy puppies, we were soon distracted by a different hullabaloo.

About 20 feet to my left, our offender was easier to smell or hear than to see. Camouflaged behind a pillar, he was heatedly debating health care policy with anyone within a 10 foot radius, welding insults and opinions as if it they were life or death matters. His scent betrayed the fact that he had in fact been indulging at at least one neighborhood bar rather liberally... multiple times.

While he seemed to think that he was well-beloved by his neighbors at the gate, they seemed to wish for a slightly higher fence between them... especially when he asked "do you want to fight about it?" (I think "it" was Nancy Pelosi's attractiveness, if anyone cares) and took off his jacket, albeit rather clumsily (navigating sleeves becomes exceedingly complicated with double vision), as if to start said fight... finally, the flight attendants in residence intervened and he left the gate briefly, hypothetically to cool down. Within about five minutes, he returned to the gate, beer in hand, and happily plopped down next to the same neighbors, greeting them as if they were dearly loved friends, completely befuddled by their less than warm welcome. Short term memory seemed to fade quickly for this one.

Long story short, when given the option of choosing between his beer or taking the flight, he chose to fight the matter over the moral liberties and rights of having his beer and flying too, and the state police arrived shortly thereafter to inform him of his rights therein and escort him from the premises. Needless to say, he did not fly the friendly skies with us that night...

Regardless, the story gets more interesting to me because, as I flew home this morning, on an exceedingly early and very on-time flight back into Boston, this same gentleman was sitting across the aisle from me, on the flight this time. This time, much subdued, red-faced, and looked tear-stained, as if many a tear had been shed very recently. He slept most of the way and otherwise stared aimlessly into space, not talking to anyone...

And it just made me wonder... what happened between Wednesday and Sunday? What's your story, friend?

How did you make it down to Virginia?
What happened while you were there?
What's the tragedy behind your bravado?
Why were you drinking?
Why were you crying?

See often times, I'm tempted to release these narratives as merely humorous escapades demonstrating how I tend to encounter the craziest people (which is a true fact). But I forget to ask the question "why"? Or, I miss the fact that these narratives are about real people with real stories and real stuff going on below the surface. And I think in some ways, I realized this week that that's actually very arrogant and self-centered of me. I use someone else's story for my own repertoire. And I neglect them in the process. Not that I'm going to stop relating humorous anecdotes (that feels wasteful). But perhaps I should learn to look at them from more angles than just my own...

And ask the question, "What's your story, friend?" Why were you drinking? Why were you crying?