The Almost-Stranger Who Told Me I’m Guarded

[Listen to an audio version of this blog here.]

“Are you first class?” a man asked me at gate 42 in terminal A at the Atlanta airport. I was mildly amused that he looked at me and even for a second thought that I’d be flying first class, with my disheveled top bun and wrinkly red sweater. “Definitely not,” I answered, sweeping my arm in front of me, “Be my guest.”

“Oh I’m not either,” he said, “I was just wondering where the line is.” So he hadn’t thought I was flying first class after all. I leaned in a bit, “I like to think that you can tell where people are going based on how they’re dressed,” I said, nodding toward a man in a tailored suit who was flying first class. Not only was he flying first class, but he was flying first class to Orange County, CA and Orange County people have a look.

My new friend chuckled, “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right.” People in Orange County dress nicely for flights, carry name brand suitcases, push emotional support dogs in strollers, smile with pinched cheeks behind blue surgical masks. They have a look, just like the people who live in Denver have a look, just like the people in Miami have a look, just like people anywhere assimilate to their cultural surroundings to some degree. We’re not all that different, despite our efforts to differentiate ourselves with…