Here I sit in downtown Los Angeles, my back up against the wall, with my luggage separating me from a group of actors and their friends. We all just left the screening room, where we watched a comic independent film based on the idea of Lucifer trying to get back into heaven. How in the world did I end up here with my luggage? It all started when the loudspeakers at the airport gloomily sounded off an apology for a thirty minute delay in our departing flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. Supposedly, this was in hopes that a nearby shop would have the “part” our plane needed to successfully deliver us to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, but predictably, it was only ten minutes later that the attendant spoke again, but this time with embarrassment and fear; the flight had been canceled, and the part could not be found.
As everyone on the floor, including me, quickly gathered our belongings scattered around us, those sitting comfortably in the chairs formed a long line, leaving the floor occupants the line caboose. We are presented with a single option to take our 50-dollar voucher and find a hotel until we can catch another plane tomorrow morning. As I sit and ponder this scenario at the back of the line, I turn around and ask the lady behind me if there was any information I missed. As I turned to ask this question, I realized I was face to face with the woman who I had previously been unabashedly staring at from my comfortable position on the floor. She was clearly Italian, and her voice carried far beyond her pink flip phone, which echoed throughout the entire terminal. As I was reading my Bloomberg Businessweek, I felt a twinge bit impatient with her repeated phone calls, each heavy with, “Oooooohhhh girrrl!” and “You know what I mean?” This prompted me to move initially to a farther location and thus “potentially” missing crucial information on our flight-cancellation situation. Flash forward thirty minutes, and I am now looking into this woman’s face, hoping for more information. Unbeknownst to me, I am now also looking at my second option.
She quickly reminds me of her heritage, grabs my arm, and loudly and enthusiastically tells me, “Oooooohhh girl! I already called my friend and she is renting me a car online right now! I am going to Los Angeles tonight!” This, of course, did not answer my question, but her answer left me mumbling something like, “That’s a good idea,” and I am not sure what else as I pondered this newly formed second option. Before I could respond, a young man's back opened up and said, “Really, you are going to drive to LA?” What followed in the next thirty seconds was head nodding, and somehow, overlooking the two people sandwiched between us with confused expressions, the three of us agreed with our eyes. With that, we were off. The three of us, complete strangers, left the line and gleefully smiled at the others, looking on in admiration and caution. This is not something I would recommend, but I believe I am a good judge of character and hoped that these two individuals simply needed a second option as much as I did. We introduce ourselves, and once in our rental car, we quickly become familiar with each others’ pasts and presents.
For four hours, a brain surgeon from Glendale, CA, a makeup artist from Detroit, and a geography professor from Texas journey across the lonely stretch that so many friends make between the megacities of LA and Vegas. This voyage, however, was not filled with reminiscence but of new discoveries and fantastic conversation.
The makeup artist, come to find out, desperately needed to get to LA before 7pm for a movie premier downtown; this was her first special effects, and she was hoping to do some great networking. When we got to Burbank to drop off the rental car, the friend I was staying with was already in acting class, so I asked if I could tag along to the primer to get a little closer to my final destination. The ride, the movie, the theater, and the people were all worth the diversion. But, back to her story: her father had left Armenia during the Turkish-Armenian War and fled to France. He met a Nepalese woman there, and soon they were in love. Shortly after, they moved to Detroit to reunite with the man’s brother, who had fled to Detroit after the Turkish-Armenian War. This is how you get an Italian-Armenian, French-speaking makeup artist from Detroit. Wow, what a fascinating woman with incredible stories.
One of our elongated conversations revolved around the brain, imagination, and medical history because the man happens to be a brain surgeon. He had to be at the hospital by 11pm for a shift, and thus, the reason for his eagerness to join us in the adventure. Strangely, the woman’s father had been hit by a car last year and had been left in a coma with severe brain damage. He is now fully recovered, and all the questions this woman had of her father’s potential full recovery and other things were answered by our very own brain surgeon – chauffeur.
Between the three of us, we also discussed North Korea’s future, Christianity and its differences for those who assume to know Christ and those who live with him on a daily basis, the illegal tiger trade and its potential lifeline of territory in the Himalayas, medical history throughout the US Revolution and WWII, and so much more. What a group and what an adventure.
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