It’s a four-hour night flight from MSP to LAX and we’ve rushed onto the plane from the Delta lounge, fortified by a glass of white wine and a sampling of salty sweet peanuts. Nasal small talk is not what we need, but we take it nonetheless. “How long is the flight?” the Aisle behind us asks. “Four hours” answers the Window. “Ughh I hate flying” whines the Aisle. “Oh, this isn’t a big of a deal, I travel ALL the time” offers the Window, who is clearly reusing his standard demonstration of value. This could go on, but we’re already up in the air and the flight attendant has announced that the touch screens have activated on the back of each seat. “Be kind to the person in front of you and don’t overdo it with the pressing” she says, absolutely serious. But the fingers have started, and the feeling of unsolicited Shiatsu jolts us from the sketch we’re drawing. Window is attacking the screen like the Wii he keeps at the office. Window is reversing the carpal tunnel from his Blackberry. Window is watching the red turn to white as he works his finger pads. Something obviously must be done. Something…
Fast as a muscle reflex, our pen rips from the page, shoots back, and grabs for his hand. It’s hot pink nails against short, terrified ones. But he’s too fast. Damn. But we’ve made our statement and stopped the ju-jitsu. And taken a stand against the lack of kinesthetic awareness.