Last fall, I spent two weeks in Paris with my family. Although it has nothing to do with the story I am going to tell, here is a picture from my trip:
Anyway - the flight home was delayed taking off because someone had parked a truck right next to the gate and they couldn't pull the plane up. Now in the U.S. this would have caused the immediate evacuation of the airport and the truck would have been blown up by a robot. But in Paris? They just waited for the driver to show up and move the truck. When the driver didn't show up, they piled us all onto trams and drove us halfway across the airport to where the plane was parked and we climbed the stairs and that was that. Except that I think the tram driver was someone they grabbed off the street who had no actual experience driving the tram and gave us all whiplash by slamming on the breaks every 5 seconds.
Still - none of that has anything to do with the story I am going to tell either.
After all the waiting for the driver of the mystery truck to show up and then all the waiting while the airline developed an alternate plan, they finally announced what was going to happen and people started moving towards the gate. Well, mobbing the gate actually, but whatever. As I looked over towards the group of hundreds of people trying to get in line I noticed that one of those people was none other than my (shit!) ex (fuck!) boyfriend (goddammit!).
This is the guy that I dumped when I met my husband; the guy that was hung up on me for far too many years after that event; the guy who now, 11 years later, still holds a grudge. (Ok, he is probably justified in that, but this is my site so we will pretend that I have always been totally wonderful in all ways and he just has issues.)
So of course, I went over and said hello. Which was just a teensy little bit awkward. And then we were right behind him in line, and 5 feet apart on the tram, and 6 rows apart on the plane and on the same tram again, and 4 people apart at Customs. And he pretended that he did not know I existed the entire time. Several months later he sent me a nastygram (who knows how he got my email) that said "Glad to know you are still alive, I guess." To which I responded, "Glad to know you are still a dick, I guess."