Another Sighting

I was at dinner last night with my boss and a couple of colleagues, and in walked the Hat Guy. No hat, but it was him. He was alone - maybe I misread him and the stewardess. Maybe she was just busy.

Or maybe he's trying to throw me off the scent.

It's not going to work, man.

The Hat Guy

I couldn't honestly say it was the greatest night of my life.

But for a flight back from Lugano, it was very, very special.

As I mentioned in My Commute, I have not seen the Hat Guy for a while. Well, last week, while I was in the security line at the airport, I got a text message from my boss:

"hat guy is here!"

"THE HAT GUY IS HERE!" I screamed to Denis, who was in line with me. Denis has not spent much time in Lugano, so he had never seen the Hat Guy, but we (okay, "I") had been talking about him earlier in the day, so this was a special moment, and I think Denis probably felt that immediately. Noticing the stares of the other passengers in line, I tried, with moderate success, to keep my voice low.

Needless to say, though, I was giddy with excitement, so much so that I barely even protested at the usual strip/cavity search (domestic travel in Switzerland is very secure), eager to get into the gate area to see it with my own eyes. When I got away from security, I saw my colleagues clustered around the bar... about 6 of them, all waiting for me with huge smiles on their faces. And there he was, right beside them, but in disguise.

He wasn't wearing his hat.

"Do you know where he is?" my boss asked. I scoffed - well, I would have scoffed, had someone else asked the same question - and nodded in his direction. Hat on, hat off... I would know him anywhere. I pointed him out to Denis, who gazed on him with appropriate awe. Did I ever mention I work with great people?

"You should get a picture of him" my boss said.

Now that put me in a tough position. There is no question - I wanted a picture. Very badly, in fact. But before I started taking pictures of strangers on the street I made a little rule for myself. Maybe not everyone would feel flattered by the shots I choose, but I only take them where I see beauty or something unique and wonderful about the person. I don't take pictures to harm people, ever - with or without their knowledge. You know, trying to use my powers for good, not evil, and that kind of thing. And even though I hold the Hat Guy in pretty high esteem, it seemed like this would cross the line. I hesitated.

"Would it violate your moral code?" asked my boss. He considered it. "Tough call," he said, and he shrugged.

As the flight to Geneva was called to board my heart started to race... the Hat Guy was seated, not in line, and still not wearing his hat. Maybe he wasn't going to Geneva any more. Maybe Zurich? Rome was already gone. I tried to swallow and, somehow, found the gate through the mist that had suddenly enveloped me. Not even the usually stunning sight of the sun setting over the hills beyond the airport could lift my spirits as I walked towards the plane. In a last-ditch attempt to retain my desire to live, I put on Boys Of Summer and followed it up with Vertigo. Twice.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me onto the plane and into my seat: 3F. As the plane filled up, 3D, right beside me, remained open. François and Denis, who were in 2D and 2F, respectively, turned around to me, their eyes alight: "maybe... he'll be beside you" they whispered in unison, voices trembling. I just shook my head. It would never happen.

And, at that moment, he stepped on to the plane.

It was just as I had imagined it: his hat was on. And his overcoat. And his scarf... he was even with a colleague with the same attire (some sort of uniform? I began to ask questions that, I fear now, will trouble me until I die). And, after removing all that needed to be removed, he sat down in the seat next to me.

"Bonsoir," I croaked.

I heard voices calling to me from the back of the plane, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Time seemed to slow down, and Poh Ming came up the aisle like a ghost, camera-phone in hand and (as usual) mischievous smile on her face. She looked at Denis, in the seat in front of the Hat Guy.

"Can I take your picture?" she asked? He smiled, and she clicked. And voila:

(Denis' face has been blurred to protect his identity. And Denis may not even be his real name, so don't try to find him. And he's married, anyways.)

Rather than go over the details of the entire rest of the journey, I will just share here some notes which I scribbled onto the napkin that came with my little sandwich as the flight progressed:

• V. polite... apologized for turning off his reading light when I was reading
• Read inflight magazine. Had book, didn't read it. Possibly b/c it was in Italian?
• Used moist towelette immediately, didn't wait until after sandwich. More reckless than he appears?
  
• No discernible smell
• Asked for 2 sandwiches
• Got 2 sandwiches! "Special" relationship with stewardess?!? To investigate further
• Slept much of trip. Did not snore loud enough to get through "Vertigo"
• Did not drink proseco. Suspicious. Maybe related to second sandwich?
• Very free with shared armrest!
• Had call on voicemail upon arrival. Was not able to get close enough to phone to make out actual content of message.
• Took train into Geneva, went out back of station, where I lost him

I can tell you, I've made a lot of flights from a lot of places, and this one is going to be hard to beat. Yeah, baby! The Hat Guy!

My Commute

As I have most weeks for the last year and a half, I flew to Lugano this morning. A couple things have changed since my regular visits before Christmas – instead of muffins, they are now serving little cinnamon buns with the coffee in the morning. That’s good – the muffins were not that great. And the hat guy is gone. I have mixed feelings about that.

He used to fly the same days as me (GVA -> LUG Wednesday morning and then LUG -> GVA on Thursday night). He would get on the plane, and, with a line of people waiting behind him, he would slowly set his bag in the overhead bin. Then he would carefully take off his and put it up, as well. Then he would take off his scarf, fold it gently, and put it into the bin. Then he would take off his coat, fold it, and look distressed. He would take the hat and scarf out of the bin, and put the coat in, and, somewhat relieved, put his hat and scarf on top. Then he would take off his suit jacket, fold it, and look at the pile of coat, scarf, and hat with bag beside them like someone had put them in while he wasn’t looking. Where was he going to put his suit jacket? Tears would start to form at the corners of his eyes, and… well, things usually went downhill from there.

And, when we landed, he would go through the entire process again, in reverse.

I was fascinated by the hat guy, but I became… let’s not say “obsessed with”, but perhaps “interested in” getting a seat in a row closer to the front than he had. I mean, it was pretty funny to watch the first couple of times, and always interesting to see the absolute incredulity of the people standing behind him, but I didn’t like being one of the people standing behind him. I’m the guy who, when I get to the security check, has already transferred everything to my jacket pockets and my PC ready to pull out of my bag. When I get to the gate to board, my ticket is ready, along with my music and the book I’ll be reading on the plane. I do this every week, and it’s not rocket science. Or even physics. Anyways, thanks to the wonders of the telephone check-in system I was usually able to get a seat low in frustration but high in entertainment. He’s not flying any more, though. I don’t know if he stopped working with his company, if his project ended. Maybe he decided he likes the train since he can take 6 hours to arrange his things. But I miss him. I hope that, somewhere, he and his hat are okay.

Much of the rest remains the same, reminding me why, if I’m going to have to travel, this is a pretty good option.

I almost always meet a friend/colleague who is on the same flight.

Darwin continues to recruit their stewardesses, it seems, based almost solely on how beautiful their eyes are. When she handed me my cup of almost-hot coffee and little glass of juice this morning I felt like I was being given… I don’t know… A BRAND NEW CAR! Or, at least, something much better than warm coffee and sample-sized orange juice. Nice.

And then there’s the other view… the sun rising over the Alps. It takes my breath away, every time. It is a heart-wrenching, want-to-burst-into-song, my-God-is-amazing kind of beautiful. I am not much of a scenery guy (except in Tuscany… and Scotland… and maybe one or two other places, but that’s it, really), but the light of the early morning sun reflecting on the snow, the jagged peaks stretching for as far as I can see, the wisps of cloud shrouding the valleys like some sort of divine secret… I am in awe. It’s incredible.

All in all, not a bad commute. Now if I could just do something about the coffee….

[EDIT]: Want more? Click here for the return of the Hat Guy.