Airline Bumping, Circa Mid 90s
“Come here; I just want to talk to you,” she sings in a tone that belies daggers. Two flight attendants are poised by the cabin door, ready, I am certain, to slam it behind me.
“Come here; I just want to talk to you,” she sings in a tone that belies daggers. Two flight attendants are poised by the cabin door, ready, I am certain, to slam it behind me.
I contract other people’s worries, as though they were chicken pox. That’s why I plug my ears and hum at the mere mention of, for example, sleeplessness. My friend Joe suffers from travel anxiety. Joe’s a guy who moves around Washington with the ease of a gifted politician, but who–weeks …
A worrywart can benefit from a connection to God. If I believed prayers were answered, I wouldn’t need to worry anymore. Even though I’m an agnostic, I consider my relationship with God a pretty good one. Like those halfway-decent, parallel-play marriages between two independent sorts, God and I go into …