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The Danish Airport Story.
Feb. 12th, 2004 11:12 pmI don't know what was going on with him, but M looked majorly hot yesterday. I mean, don't get me wrong, I always think he looks good. Yesterday, though, was extreme. I kept talking about it all day until I became a little afraid that he was going to think I normally think he looks like something the cat dragged in, so I finally shut up.
Speaking of which, I've been trying to get him to tell the airport story in his journal, but he refused so I think I will. I know why he won't tell it--it's the kind of story that you can't really tell about yourself without sounding like an arrogant jerk, and I suppose that even his extremely healthy ego draws the line somewhere. But as his wife, I can get away with it--I did say that he wouldn't tell it himself, at least, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Well, until he reads this, of course. ;)
When he worked at Dell, he did a lot of travelling between the Nordic countries--once or twice a week, he would be in Oslo, Copenhagen or Helsinki. He also occasionally flew to England and Ireland. Since he was flying business class, he also got to hang out in the nice airport lounges. During one particularly busy day at the Heathrow airport, he heads into the lounge. It was quite crowded, so there weren't many empty seats. He approaches a middle-aged woman and asks her if the seat beside her was taken. She said no, and they carry on a brief conversation while he sits down and pulls out a paper.
Now, there are two things that you should know about M, and one is that is that he soaks up accents like a sponge. He's particularly susceptible to a British one. I've mentioned this before, but it has a bearing on this story, so it's worth mentioning again. He'd spent the last three days speaking to people at the office in London, and one fellow had not only thought he was English, but that he was from a specific part of western London. He really doesn't sound Swedish at all. The second important thing to this story is that his Danish is somewhat better than the average Swede's, given the time spent in the Danish office and the Danes working in the Swedish one.
Anyway. There are two Danish women sitting near him, talking and having a grand time. They're speaking at normal volume to each other, and he can't help but overhear that they're talking about... well, him, and in lurid detail. He was clearly British, after all, so of course he couldn't understand a word they were saying.. so they thought. Apparently, he was having another of those good days. He begins concentrating his entire energy on not giggling like a schoolgirl while they discuss his clothes, his height, his eyes, his features, his hands, his feet, and just generally note all the finer points of his person as well as theorize on various aspects of him that I, as his then-girlfriend, firmly felt they should have had no business noticing. ;)
It continues for several minutes until he knows that he can't stand sitting there any longer without laughing. He gathers his bags and folds the paper and heads for the door. It would have been a funny story just like that, but you can't really think that M would leave it at that. No, he stops directly in front of them, inclines his head and says, "Have a good flight."...in his very best Danish.
He's pretty sure that at least one of them died of embarrassment on the spot. Don't you just love languages?
Speaking of which, I've been trying to get him to tell the airport story in his journal, but he refused so I think I will. I know why he won't tell it--it's the kind of story that you can't really tell about yourself without sounding like an arrogant jerk, and I suppose that even his extremely healthy ego draws the line somewhere. But as his wife, I can get away with it--I did say that he wouldn't tell it himself, at least, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Well, until he reads this, of course. ;)
When he worked at Dell, he did a lot of travelling between the Nordic countries--once or twice a week, he would be in Oslo, Copenhagen or Helsinki. He also occasionally flew to England and Ireland. Since he was flying business class, he also got to hang out in the nice airport lounges. During one particularly busy day at the Heathrow airport, he heads into the lounge. It was quite crowded, so there weren't many empty seats. He approaches a middle-aged woman and asks her if the seat beside her was taken. She said no, and they carry on a brief conversation while he sits down and pulls out a paper.
Now, there are two things that you should know about M, and one is that is that he soaks up accents like a sponge. He's particularly susceptible to a British one. I've mentioned this before, but it has a bearing on this story, so it's worth mentioning again. He'd spent the last three days speaking to people at the office in London, and one fellow had not only thought he was English, but that he was from a specific part of western London. He really doesn't sound Swedish at all. The second important thing to this story is that his Danish is somewhat better than the average Swede's, given the time spent in the Danish office and the Danes working in the Swedish one.
Anyway. There are two Danish women sitting near him, talking and having a grand time. They're speaking at normal volume to each other, and he can't help but overhear that they're talking about... well, him, and in lurid detail. He was clearly British, after all, so of course he couldn't understand a word they were saying.. so they thought. Apparently, he was having another of those good days. He begins concentrating his entire energy on not giggling like a schoolgirl while they discuss his clothes, his height, his eyes, his features, his hands, his feet, and just generally note all the finer points of his person as well as theorize on various aspects of him that I, as his then-girlfriend, firmly felt they should have had no business noticing. ;)
It continues for several minutes until he knows that he can't stand sitting there any longer without laughing. He gathers his bags and folds the paper and heads for the door. It would have been a funny story just like that, but you can't really think that M would leave it at that. No, he stops directly in front of them, inclines his head and says, "Have a good flight."...in his very best Danish.
He's pretty sure that at least one of them died of embarrassment on the spot. Don't you just love languages?
