Divisiveness, Drunken Pilots And Kim Kardashian: A Pigeon-toed Indian Pontificates About The 2012 Elections

By Guest Contributor Gyasi Ross

I think airport conversations–when you’re waiting for your flight–are the most interesting conversations you can have. The reason why? Who knows? Could it be that the possibility of dying within the next few hours from a drunken pilot using his beer goggles to steer causes people to intimate information they otherwise wouldn’t? Perhaps it’s the realization that you’ll probably never see the person you’re rambling to again so you can burden them with your darkest secrets? Then again, maybe there’s something about flying the friendly skies that makes everybody, y’know, friendlier.

It remains a mystery.

Whatever the reason, people tend to be looser and more honest on planes and in the terrible/overpriced bars in the airports. Flying is like alcohol, though; folks probably dance better on planes, too. Indeed, I’ve concluded that airports are like dive bars for professional types: it’s the one context that us uptight professional schmucks feel comfortable being honest and saying what we really feel (although we are still not quite as inclined to take an undesirable home and wake up with a guilty conscience as in a bar).

With that in mind, an elderly, white gentleman took up conversation with me in the Denver airport, one week after the 2012 Elections.  I took a very early flight back to Seattle after speaking at an event and, although I was very tired, he was genuinely friendly, and a conversation very organically happened.  This guy was a handsome older gentleman—the type of white dude that I would like to look like in my 60s if I had any desire whatsoever to be white when I am in my 60s.  I don’t (and can’t). But he resembled Dennis Farina in “Snatch”—dark (I thought that he was of Hispanic descent when I first met him), elegant, sharp, but with just enough dirty, old, white man to keep it honest.

I’ll refer to him as “Dennis.”

Dennis noticed my “First Americans for Obama” t-shirt—asked me what I thought of the election. I knew it was a set-up from the start; my dear grandmother used to do the same thing. She’d oftentimes ask a question, not because she wanted to hear my opinion, but because she wanted to give me hers.

I gave it anyway—I’ve been missing my ol’ granny lately.

I told Dennis the typical boilerplate blather: “I’m an independent, blah, blah, I don’t really dig either party, blah, blah, still, I think these elections make clear that a person simply cannot lie their way into the presidency, blah, blah, blah, by the way, did Romney even have a platform?”

I also remarked about the brilliant trap that President Obama laid, with the DREAM Act, and how the silly Republicans fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, and how that ostensibly lost the presidency for them. I said something to the effect of, “Those sorts of strategies show that the days of expecting to win or lose by appealing to the cigar club are effectively over.”

Dennis was a good listener. In fact, I verbally complimented him on his listening ability and how I wanted to be as good a listener as he. Intent. Focused, even though one could plainly see the pained look upon his face. Especially at the last comment—upon hearing the “cigar club” comment, his face scrunched up, very ugly, like that ghastly picture of Kim Kardashian crying. Yuck.

He couldn’t be an amazing listener any longer.

Dennis retorted.  “You know what I see? What was your name again? Thank you. Gyasi, I see divisiveness. I see a country divided and this is probably the most divided this country has ever been.”

He continued, “If Obama had shown more of a willingness to be conciliatory, maybe it wouldn’t be like this. I’m not saying that the Republicans have been perfect, but the country was never divided like this under a Republican president. Bush, Bush, Reagan, you name him—it wasn’t like this.”

I tried to emulate Dennis.  He set an amazing example of how to listen, even when you thought the other person was full of fecal matter.  I held my tongue—channel Dennis—as he concluded.

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