Project 10: Famous People
Airplane Go Zoom
Oh, I love airports. I really do. It’s the airplanes that I hate.
Airports mean fun languages, food, and hopefully the end of the trip. Airplanes mean airsickness, vomiting, stuffiness, and other fantastic and exciting things.
As a kid living overseas, though, I tend to travel a lot (woo, gotta love the discomfort). I’ve got the drill down – pack, double check the list, make sure you have your passport, then zip on over to the airport about two hours before your flight leaves, just in case you have a long line for security. On that day, so far it was check, check, check, aaaand check. Just another day at the airport.
Or so I’d thought.
I was flying from the United States to Korea (South, duh). I was on my own this time, since my parents and other siblings would come a day later since they had to take care of other issues first. You would think after living over eleven years overseas I would have flown on my own before, but this was actually a first, so I was super looking forward to it. Not.
I mean, yeah, the first part should be fine, but once I get to Korea I’d be lost. Admittedly, most of the airport staff should be able to speak English, and usually I can bluff my way through it since I blend in with the Chinese, Korean, or Japanese; but if everything goes wrong, it could go really, really wrong.
Oh well. My mindset is always just to go with it and see what happens. Nothing really terrible has happened so far anyways.
These were the optimistic thoughts running through my head as I made my way to the boarding gate to wait.
Now, I have this cute little ukulele that I like to bring all over the world with me. It’s been to about as many countries as I have now… which honestly isn’t actually that many when compared to some other people, so I’ll shut up about that.
But I whipped the little guy out and began to play quietly while I waited another half hour for the gate to open. (I know at some point my ukulele had a name, but by now I’ve forgotten it. I guess I’ll call it Potato.) Potato knows all my songs because I play them a bazillion times when I’m waiting at airports. I think he’s sick of them, but he can’t really do anything about it, so I was playing “Become the Wind” from the Studio Ghibli movie The Cat Returns when a guy came up to me.
I looked up at him, annoyed. Usually I’m introverted and somewhat awkward, but when I’m tired like I was then, I get weird.
“Nice playing,” the guy said. His accent was either English, Australian, or South African.
Scratch the last one. Probably English. Or Australian? Hrm. It wasn’t fun enough to be Scottish, that much I knew.
He looked weird. He had dark hair and really dark eyebrows, but he wasn’t Asian, and his hair was combed up to be really tall. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before, but he was looking at me expectantly.
My mind raced. He couldn’t be one of the families from the States who’ve known us since we were itty bitty babies, because he didn’t have an American accent… right? Was he just goofing off to throw me off? Plus, he was too young.
“Who’re you?” I ended up asking bluntly.
He looked surprised. “Zayn.”
I frowned. “You’re too old to be Zayn.”
Now he looked confused. “What?”
Wait, no, that was the Zayn I babysat before. No way would he suddenly be in his early twenties when only last year he was six. Even with my brain dead, I knew that much; my math wasn’t that far gone yet.
“You’re not from One Direction, right?”
“Oh. Cool.” What else are you supposed to say to a celebrity?
Don’t overthink it. He’s just a human too.
Whoa, hey, he’s human too. I didn’t mean to say that. Except I kind of did. Celebrities tick me off for no reason in particular, especially One Direction. Maybe it’s because of how awkward they look when they sing.
Oh well. What’s out is out.
“Well, it was great meeting you and all that, but you can go bug someone else now, ’cause I don’t give a cookie if you’re famous or not. And you can’t play my ukulele if that’s what you were wondering.”
Wow. I handled that well.
He walked away looking mad, and I did a little boogie inside, knowing I could write about this in my Creative Writing class. Because it was totally not made-up, as obviously any kid would meet a random famous person by chance.
Just like my life goal is to not be sarcastic.