Earlier this week, I was sent on a cross-country (read: 5-hour) flight for work -- and for once in my life, the absolute last thing on my mind was anything at all to do with romance. So, suffice it to say, I inadvertently happened on yet another marginally-untapped resource for the young, single and looking-to-mate post-collegiate person: air travel.
I was seated on this long flight next to a nicely-dressed twentysomething man whose computer bag bore a remarkable resemblance to my own management-consulting-world bag. At the time, I was ridiculously tired because I hadn't slept well, and let's face it, travel is tiring. Of course, Mr. Computer Bag was feeling rather chatty this particular morning.
"Oh, you work for so-and-so1x" he beamed when I sat down next to him, exposing the telltale embroidery of my employer's name on the front of my bag. I nodded and smiled politely, careful not to ask him a question in return (this, I think, is a not-so-subtle hint that a person is either tired or just unsociable). But Mr. Computer Bag was not about to take the hint I had offered up.
"How do you like working there?"
"It's fine." I answered. Hello? Could I be more brief? I almost felt rude at this point, but I maintained my stance.
"I work for so-and-so, one of your biggest competitors1x I hate it, though?it's not at all what I thought it would be -- do you ever feel that way?" And on and on and on. His chattiness could actually serve me well, I figured -- if he continued in this vein, I might not have to participate in the conversation at all1x Of course I wasn't so lucky.
"So where are you going?" Were the words he concluded his monologue with, a good hour later. Given that we were on a nonstop flight to Philadelphia, I found this question to be a bit disconcerting.
"Um, Philadelphia," I answered weakly. Duh.
"Me too1x So are you going for work? Of course you are, you have your computer bag with you. How long are you going to be there?"
His mention of my bag sparking an idea, I pulled out my computer as I answered, "Just a few days." I then feigned deep thought as I stared at my computer, which was choosing to boot up at an abysmally protracted speed. When it finally finished, I pretended to be engrossed in what I was doing, which was?writing this article.
"So do you want to grab some coffee when we land?" For the first time, I turned to look at my fellow passenger, who bore all the markings of a perfectly wonderful human being. Had it not been for his incredibly bad timing (I couldn't have looked more ready for sleep had I been in pajamas) I would probably have considered it. As it stood now, the very thought was giving me an even bigger headache than I already had, and so I declined with the excuse of my hectic schedule.
Which brings me to my point, for those of you seeking to use the potential-laden automatic dating service provided by air travel: as with most everything involving romance, flirting, dating and any kind of courtship whatsoever, timing is everything. The possibility that exists on-board is great (the Mile High Club thing alone works in your favor here), as long as you gauge the approachability of the person at whom you're directing your interest and go from there. In other words, if she looks tired and unapproachable, how much fun could she be to talk to anyway?
Come to think of it, this is always a good idea -- even when you're on the ground.
