I was getting into the shower when Tom knocked on the door. He introduced himself as a postal worker from Pittsburgh and I let slide the fact that he was at the very least, 24 years past his prime to be making a second tour on the European backpacking circuit. He was candid and friendly, immediately peeing without closing the bathroom door, and I was pretty sure that I almost somewhat partially liked him.
He told me about his day and quickly offered his pipe in an obvious attempt to reach out to another weary traveler. 'Amsterdamian Belly Rolling Bud' was what he called it. One sniff spoke devil's trouble and I passed. Partly because I'm a daylight lightweight, but mostly...it would have been far too much closeness between me and my new sketch friend.
I spread out on the cot and it hit. Heaviness from the redeye out of Newark. Heaviness from being the only white boy...wedged in the middle of the middle section of an Air India flight. Heaviness of landing in a country where my greatest weapon...that of the tongue, rendered irrelevant. Heaviness of figuring out one of the greatest metropolitan centers of the world toting a 100 pound backpack and a sleepless mind.
He launched into a rant, vast and aimless...quickly covering the religious conspiracies swirling the world and I closed my eyes. In that moment, I realized my only potential defense...pretend to fall asleep.
Three minutes later, Tom stopped talking. And if there's one assurance I can offer, it's that Tom struggles with the principles of a clean conversational 'break.' He left the room to pick up his laundry and I feasted on 17 minutes of sleep.
