Denver airport during a flight cancellation is mind-numbing. What makes it even better is the people who are convinced that the whole terminal - even the air traffic control system - exists for their own satisfaction and approval. “This is not Starbucks folks!” These airport employee types are NOT programmed to say YES to your every need.

The guy with the confused frown cemented on his face seems to think he’s at Starbucks and the people in the red vests are obliged serve him a triple shot Americano with a squirt of English Toffee for his troubles.  His girlfriend – sporting a blank stare – is playing “sucky-face” with him in a failed attempt to suck his frown off his face.  It won’t help much; he’d still be confused about his inconvenience.  “My flight?” he seems to be asking, “Cancelled?  How dare they?!”  He seems unaware that there are a hundred people sharing his traveling bliss.

He sits behind me.  I’m facing the counter with the red digital sign that scrolls, “FLIGHT 320 – DES MOINES – CANCELLED – MECHANICAL PROBLEMS”.  His back is toward me, and the counter, but he untangles himself from his girlfriend’s arms and looks over his shoulder at the red sign-of-despair as if it will instantly bring good news.  His face is in my space, next to my left ear.  He doesn’t seem to notice, so I adjust my position to clear his line of sight with the sign.  He doesn’t move, just stares at the sign.  After a while I’m uncomfortable in my “adjusted” position, so move back.  He doesn’t budge.  He’s now staring at my left ear.  I’m thinking he’ll soon give up, so hold my position.  He seems to be studying my ear-hair.  I’m not budging.

I figure if I talk to my fellow traveler Jon, Mr. Confused-Frown will get the hint that he’s invading, and get out of my space.  He puts his legs up on the chair next to him, leans back against the arm of his chair and settles in – studying my left ear that’s blocking his telepathic control over the sign-of-dispair.  I have a huge mole behind my left ear.  I hope he enjoys it.  I’m distracted, so my conversation with Jon is pointless.  I duck down again to clear his view.  He stares at the sign, controlling it with his super-powers to change – “YOU’RE NOW IN DES MOINES – THANK-YOU FOR FLYING THE FRIENDLY SKIES”.

I’m uncomfortable in my twisted crouch, so I move back into my seat.  He stares into my left ear – then starts whistling Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in D – my left ear is his only audience.  The air from his puckered lips puffs my hair.  I give up.

I shift to the front of my seat so he’ll blow his foul-smelling music into the back of my head – and maybe he’ll take a hint at my sudden movement.  Beethoven’s refrain was never so annoying.  He whistles beautifully – on key – good tone – vibrant rhythm.  My back is sore from leaning forward.  I lean back in my seat and move even closer to him.  Self-defense experts teach that leaning into your foe reduce his leverage and power – this should push him back.  The galloping part of Beethoven’s Fifth is puffed into my ear from an even closer distance.  Somebody else can have my seat – I’m going to the bathroom defeated.

I hope his girlfriend sucks Beethoven out of his musical mouth.