The Flight of the Typing Fingers

June 7, 2009
By Anonymous

I was sitting in a corner on the day that I saw the most unusual group of people group together. We were all at the airport, waiting for our flight to a small town no one has never heard of. Due to weather, our flight was delayed to the following day. It was foggy and hailing. Everyone else (of the few that there were) had left to go home or go to a friends house. The other four people and I were at this airport because it was supposed to be our connecting flight. None of us had a place to stay so we were stuck at the terminal. I had had my laptop with me that day and decided to document all that had happened. So it begins.

There were four other people besides me. I guess I’ll start describing the one that was farthest from me and work my way in. There was a computer nerd. He was taking care of some home installment forms for a client. He had on some khaki cargo pants and a striped polo with a chest pocket. In that pocket he had his handy dandy pocket protector and two pens, one blue and one black. Pinned on the pocket, he had his employee I.D which read “TRISTAN” and had one of the classically horrible I.D pictures of himself. He had his favorite Nike sneakers on his feet. His backpack was next to him. It was full of computer gear. He had his Mac Book Air, an extra pack of ball point pens, an extra pocket protector, and his most beloved frisbee. His hair hung just a bit above his eyes. It was blonde and the kind of hair you just had to run your fingers through. His blue eyes were very friendly, almost inviting. He was a very witty person. He could always find a way to reply in a sarcastic way and often did so. He was tapping his right foot, waiting for the day to be over.

A prostitute was sitting a few chairs away from him. Makeup was heavily plastered onto her face. Her hair was a deep red colour. Her eyes were soft but wrapped in the thickness of eyeliner. Her long lashes were caked with mascara. Her lips were iced with bubble-gum pink lip-gloss and were very voluptuous. She had on a green v-neck tee which was very flattering. You could tell she was busty from the other side of the terminal. She had a white mini skirt and when I say “mini,” I mean mini. She was twirling a few strands of hair around her index finger as well as smacking away on a piece of gum. Everyone knew who she was where she came from. Her name was Veronika. She wasn’t the most academically smart, but she was socially smart. She was good at talking to anyone and getting along with anyone.

There was a nun, Sister Teresa. Of course you couldn’t tell, because she wasn’t all dressed up like a nun, but she was close. She had on black pants and a white button down blouse. Her brown hair was up in a “librarian” bun, or whatever that sort of tight bun was called. She had a cross necklace hanging from her neck. Silver glasses protected her brown eyes. She was reading a book. She was a very quiet person and kept to herself most of the time. The only noise that came from her general area was the sound of paper when she turned the page. She was a very bright person. She was friendly and generous. She volunteered on the weekends and collected children’s books for the library back at her home. She learned things through her experiences in life and from the choices she made.

Not far from her was Clyde, the CEO. He had on black slacks and a business-like shirt. His hair was as black as his black slacks. His eyes were a vibrant green. His ego was about as big as the entire airport. Whatever he wanted, he got. He didn’t care how he did just as long as he got it. He was text messaging on his Blackberry. He had to tell his business friends back at home about the delay. He always had a new story about his successes and about how people (supposedly) admired him. He glowed with self esteem. Even if people were sarcastically commenting him, he’d never know. Things went right over his head and he lived life in a bubble.

Clyde got up and sat next to Veronika. She had a blank look on her face and she was staring out the window watching the hail soar down.

“You look bored,” he said. It was clear he wanted Veronika. I watched the look of desire pass across his face.

“Meh,” she sighed, “I guess you could say bored. It’s probably worse than that.”

“You know I could fix that.” He said, trying to be slick. She just looked at him with a “get away” look.

“Leave her alone.” Tristan began, “No one wants to be hit on by a balloon full of himself.” Sister Teresa looked up from her book at this point and placed the bookmark in it. She placed her book next to her and began to speak.

“Being rude is just as bad. If you can’t say anything nice, just don’t speak at all.” She tried to mediate the situation.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, guys. I’ve dealt with it before.” Veronika tried to defend her position.

“I was just going to tell her a story…” Clyde began.

“Oh that sounds lovely.” Sister Teresa cut him off. “Why don’t we all tell stories to pass the time?”

“Where’s the benefit from that?” Tristan inquired.

“Best story gets free Starbucks in the morning?” Veronika offered a reward.

“Works for me.” Clyde stated.

“But who goes first?” Sister Teresa asked. I wasn’t sure how they were going to figured that one out and have the outcome still be fair.

“How many pens do you have?” Clyde asked looking at Trisan’s backpack.

“Eight.” He replied. He had a confused look on his face. He seemed intrigued and annoyed at the same time.

“Great. Get four. Make sure one of the ink levels is the shortest.” Clyde instructed him. It seemed like they were going to draw straws with some lemony twist.

“Okay. So whoever gets the pen with the shortest ink will go first.” Clyde declared. They all grabbed a pen and somehow Clyde ended up with the pen with the shortest ink.

“So you’re going first.” Veronika acknowledged. Tristan rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair a little bit. He was getting cozy. It appeared that he knew this story was going to be a long one. Sister Teresa removed her reading glasses. Veronika stopped smacking on her gum and gave Clyde her undivided attention. Then he began.

The author's comments:
We had to make our own general prologue for hw.

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