Lifestyles of the vapid

The airport is a great place to listen to people who are completely full of it, and have nothing to say, but say something anyway.

Right now, as we speak, the guy next to me is relating, over his cell phone, the intimate details about how his rider-mower has been missing spots in his yard. Yep. It's true. When he's riding along, the right side often misses some blades of grass. He's moved onto another topic now, which has something to do with things being very clean, and moving fast, and needing to have the belts changed. I have no idea what the device is that he's discussing.

Earlier, in line for security, a doofy looking man with curly gray hair was having a conversation with a young Asian woman who was clearly his colleague. And she was also clearly under some appendage of his that must resemble a "wing" because he was imparting to her all of his words of wisdom, as she stared blankly at him, and smiled at the appropriate times, while it was evident that she was secretly wishing for a bomb threat. Can I even type "bomb threat" while sitting in an airport terminal? Could they even know? Who knows. Well, here's to finding out. At one point in the conversation, he managed to cram into a single sentence the words "best practice," "task force," "consensus," and "standardization." Seriously. The best part is that he stated "I was appointed to a best-practice task force." When you hear someone using words like that, the only thing that becomes painfully evident is that their work probably consists of nothing of any substance and that, if they happened to be kidnapped and tied up in a cabin in the woods of Vermont for, say, 4 months, there would be absolutely no disruption in the main flow of business in whatever venue he is employed.

I am sure there will be more depressing experiences to relate to you. But, for now, that's all.