Make It Stop!

Last month, when I went to California for the Game Developers Conference, I spent some time at the airport, SFO, waiting for my flight home.

For lunch, I had a chicken teriyaki rice bowl. The food court was very crowded, so I asked an Asian couple if I could join them at their table, and they graciously assented. I was amused to see that they were eating their lunch with forks, while I was eating mine with chopsticks.

At one point during the meal, I glanced up to see a dapper, handsome man walking past me who looked very familiar. After a moment's delay while I Googled my brain, I realized why he looked familiar. It was Gavin Newsome, mayor of San Francisco. Of course, by the time I remembered who he was, he was already gone. Why is it always that way?

As I ate, the couple at the table conversed with each other in a foreign language. It wasn't Japanese, or I'd have recognized it. It wasn't sing-song, so I don't think it was Chinese (are Mandarin and Cantonese both tonal languages?). I don't think they were Vietnamese. Korean, maybe?

I wasn't sure. Figuring the odds, I decided the best bet was that they were Chinese, just based on how many more Chinese there are than Koreans, especially in SF. When I was done with lunch, I said to them, "Xie-xie" (pronounced shay-shay), which is "Thank you" in Mandarin. I hoped that they'd recognize it even if it wasn't their native tongue. They didn't react. Maybe I should have said, "Kamsahamnida."

Walking around the airport with my luggage, I heard an annoying repetitive squeak like a dog's squeeze toy. I thought it might be the wheels on my luggage, but the squeak continued unabated even when I stopped. Heading towards my terminal, I noticed the abominable noise getting louder and louder. It was maddening! Was there a vicious dog in the airport, trying to tear asunder his squeak toy?

No. As the sound reached its maximum volume, I realized it was coming from a toddler directly ahead of me, struggling to keep up with her mother, who had her by the hand. With every step the toddler took, her shoes emitted that irritating squawk. Why would any sane person purchase shoes like that for a toddler? And was she still sane?

squeak-squeak squeak-squeak squeak-squeak squeak-squeak!

Evidently, even her mother wasn't immune to the shoes' annoyance factor, for she picked up the squeaking toddler. Blessed silence, at last!

Connie tells me that when she worked in the mall, she would hear shoes like those all day long. I hope she's not going to require therapy. I would!

I can understand the fear a parent would possess that their prodigy might disappear, but turning them into a squeak toy is not the answer. Get a leash!


Blog Tag: Chatter