Sitting at the bar at Blue Mesa Tacos, the only decent restaurant at DFW’s Terminal E, a strange woman to my right struck up a conversation. She had clearly had work done — replete with an odd assortment of face lifts and myriad augmentations — and was wearing these garish cowboy boots one finds in airport gift stores throughout the Southwest. She informed me her name is Pam. Such encounters are the perils of long layovers.
Listening to Pam, I was reminded of various characters from the TV show Dallas. Naturally, as a former TV junkie, almost everyone I meet reminds me of one character or another from one of the dozens of classic TV shows of the 70s and 80s. Dallas was such a caricature of the real place, but Pam has wholeheartedly embraced this style in an impressive and almost comical fashion.
I kept my eyes on the three TVs above me showing America’s Team beating the dastardly Philadelphia Eagles, one of the two most hated teams for any Texpatriate. Still, she kept asking me questions...Where do you live? Where are you headed today, etc.
Virtually every time I mention I live in Chicago to a fellow Texan — especially in winter — the first response is some version of, “I could never live in Chicago, it’s much too cold.” Without fail, upon telling Pam I live in the Windy City, she responded, “Chicago, oh it’s so cold — I could never live there!”
Following the predictable discussion about weather — Chicago’s too cold, Texas is too damn hot, etc. — Pam proceeded to tell me about her various boyfriends. She mentioned at least three, and they all sound current. Moreover, they all sound rich and old—or at least older than Pam.
I don’t think she was flirting with me. Rather, I suspect the empty margarita glass before her wasn’t her first. Meantime, Dallas scored another touchdown to pull ahead of the Eagles. My cheering didn’t phase her, and she continued to discuss how cold Chicago is. Almost as if she was trying to imagine having another boyfriend in the upper Midwest — but in a conceptual manner, not in a specific way regarding me.
Eventually she had to catch her flight to see boyfriend number two. Or was it boyfriend number three? She offered a handshake and left. Cowboys scored again—this time sealing a victory.
Travel is strange — especially when flying through, but not to, my Texas homeland. But at least I didn’t get mistaken for Ed Helms this trip (see part 26 for that story!).
