Where: An eatery just outside security at the Portland International Airport (PDX).
Another airport post, really? I know, I know. I just returned from a little trip to the provinces, but I’ll be back to the subway tomorrow, honest!
Who was reading: An off-duty pilot, juggling his book with a carton of Panda Express.
“Can I be the spy on this one?” asked my mother, who had been kind enough to help me kill some time before my flight. "Sure,” I told her, but after 4 or 5 sly laps around his table, she came back—sans results.
“You’re such an amateur, Mom.” I scoffed. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
But much to my chagrin, The pilot’s considerable bulk completely obscured the book from view. No matter how, I craned my neck, all I got was shoulder, shoulder, and more shoulder. I returned to my seat in despair and proceeded to stew while a conversation happened around me. I couldn’t let it go.
So finally, as we were leaving... I threw caution to the wind and sidled right up behind the man. I was sure my proximity would cause him to turn; some minute breeze roused by my movements would stir the hairs on his neck and condemn us both to an exceedingly awkward interaction....
Instead: success! Maybe it was just an after-effect of the radiation from the body-scanner, but I like to think it was exultation that made the stale airplane air taste sweeter than ever.
Bookspying involves more skill than one might imagine. It involves visual acuity, upside down reading, and serious social risk-taking. I am proud of my offspring. Don't blame me for the sarcasm.
ReplyDelete