Flew to St. Louis last night. Not fun. Flight was delayed out of Laguardia for more than an hour. Was in the back row of a tiny, bumpy plane. Was starving. Waited forever on rental car line, only to learn I didn’t need to be on the line. Then I boarded the bus to the pick-up and found myself across from this guy.
You know this guy. The invention of the cellular communication device has rewarded him and damned us. Now he can talk to Janice and Steve and Meg and Mary and Melvin and Ed and Rupert and Sven and Brad whenever he wants, wherever he wants. So … he does. At a restaurant table. At the urinal. While watching a movie that’s started to bore him.
On the rental car bus.
Literally, the vehicle was packed. Nearly midnight, a bunch of drained, battered travelers anxious to flop down into Holiday Inn beds. Then—THIS. “YEAH, CHUCK, YEAH, HE’S NICE, BUT I QUESTIONS HIS BUSINESS EXPERIENCE! NO, NO, NO, I’M NOT SAYING HE’S NOT CAPABLE. I’M JUST SAYING …” On and on and on and on.
So … am I a dick, posting Biff’s photo here? Probably.
But, well, hey.
