Imagine my chagrin at hearing not one but two songs by bands I currently listen to on the most recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy. This confirms it: I am officially in the VH1 phase of my life.
I’ve never been one to make small talk at airports (or anywhere, really).
I keep having missed connections with guys I date or almost date in the sense that something is missing and that something is mainly one person’s desire to date the other person. We almost connected but our timing wasn’t quite right or our personalities weren’t what we’d hoped they’d be. One of us was too effusive or one of us was too anxiety-ridden or someone was hung up on his ex or someone was hung up on bad 80s movies and a trip to Ikea. We come to this point from somewhere else, we run to catch our flight, we show up breathless at the terminal—only to see the plane we thought we should be on taxiing down the runway. And now we are faced with an indefinite wait in a gray chair in a long row of gray chairs, surrounded by strangers with whom we just can’t work up the desire to make small talk, and we wonder if we should finish the novel we’ve been reading or maybe go buy an overpriced pretzel.
Lately I’ve been thinking about where it is I’m trying to go. I’ve been thinking about shorter distances, alternate routes. I’ve been thinking about various forms of transportation. A light rail, for instance. If you miss one train, another one comes along moments later. A bicycle has a certain DIY appeal.
Would it be overly dramatic to say that all my connections are missed connections? For instance, I missed that very important thing you just said that explained your whole theory of identity and human connectivity because I was ruing my decision to take the iphone 4s for free instead of paying $50 for the iphone 5.
It still baffles me that people connect at all, how people fall in love, the two million tiny things that must align for two people to think, Yes, this is it! Now—and possibly forever!
Maybe the saddest missed connection is the craig’s list missed connection written as an open letter. This person has shown up at the airport without a flight to catch. This person is walking among the rows of grey chairs, novel-less, pretzel-less, whispering their loneliness to nobody in particular. This person needs to be made aware of online dating sites, at the very least.
I’m not chronically single I just don’t understand the meaning of the word “cohabitate.”
I’m not chronically single I’m just reticent to make eye contact with strangers across crowded rooms.
I’m not chronically single I just don’t like to go camping.