As I’ve mentioned, I do have a touch of my dad’s OCD. And the other day, when I was stuck in O’Hare most of the day, I was… bothered by the fact that the edge of the vinyl cushioned seat on which I sat was ripped, almost as if chewed away by a dog. I hated the way it felt, so of course I couldn’t stop touching it – like a sore tooth.
Then I remembered the tie-dyed duct tape in my bag. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, ripped off a piece and covered the offending tear. I was worried that TSA agents would suddenly appear and accuse me of trying to blow up the airport with explosive duct tape — but nothing.
So if you’re ever sitting at Gate 10 of the USAirways terminal, and you happen to notice a patch of pink and purple tie-dyed duct tape on the corner of an end-row seat?
That was me.