Meeting Gordon, Military honors, Sharing Armrests

While waiting at the airport in Amarillo, TX I noticed a man who had a child’s body leaning against a chair as I would have leaned against a table or a counter. I would guess he was about 46 inches tall and weighted about seventy pounds or so. A group of early twenty year olds boys walked by him and he called out and stopped them. It turned out they were the backup band for a group called Bomshel who had played in a venue nearby.
The boys recognized him immediately as having been in the front row at their most recent concert and he asked if he could take a tincture with them. I seemed like a likely candidate to him to get the picture and he handed me his phone. “Do you want us to sit while you stand?” He smiled. “That usually works best for me.”
I took two pictures which he immediately posted on his Facebook page or wall or whatever you call it. He thanked me and struck up a conversation with me which lasted almost an hour. It turns out he is a retiree of Delta and is allowed to fly anywhere, anytime on Delta and whatever other carriers recognize his Delta affiliation.
What he spends most of his time doing is following certain bands across the United States. His favorite singer is Kellie Pickle something or other from American Idol. As it turns out he is also a favorite of hers and has spent a lot of time with her and her band. He obviously leads a very rough life.
As we boarded the plane, we got in line with about eight military personnel – all young men – who were sharing the flight with us to Memphis, TN. As the young men got up to the plane door the captain and stewardess told them to take their place in the first class section. “We have no passengers in this section and we would like to give you the flight you deserve – and our sincere thanks for your service.”
On the second flight of the trek home I was on a very full plane. It was a small plane with only two sets per side. I had the window. I was hopeful of being alone in the pair of seats but it was not meant to be and the woman seated beside me w turned out to be one of the types of passengers we all dread traveling with.
From the time she sat down I felt like there was nothing I could do to get sufficiently out of her way. I had my legs clamped together, by left arm folded across my lap and my shoulders turned toward the wall of the plane and I still got bumped, brushed or banged against every time she moved. It was as if her body language was shouting, “Would you give me some room here?”
Finally, I just relaxed a bit, took up more of “my space” and let her fend for herself. She and I never said a word to each other, but what a raging argument our body language carried on.