Some people should never be allowed to travel

Some people should never be allowed to travel. Instead of becoming more interesting, they become more annoying -- they're still just as stupid as before, but now because they've traveled, they're all puffed up with themselves. Last night I met a woman whose every sentence had some allusion to somewhere else.

"Oh, well, if you think the bread is dry here is at Kincaid's, you should try eating bugs like I did when I was in Africa. I believe bugs are the national dish of Zimbabwe."

The other girl with us mentioned that she'd just seen Memories of a Geisha. "Really? I would be interested in seeing that, as I am in the Asian Studies program at UCLA. I've been to Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand."

I didn't yet realize she needed no encouragement to talk about herself, so I asked, "Are you working on your PhD?"

"No, but my dad has one." She said this as if a PhD were some hereditary honor that would be passed down to her, so there was no point in her wasting time earning one. Judging from her age, I couldn't help but think she'd be inheriting shortly.

She started going on about the race riots in Australia, and how the tv showed a bunch of blonde, frat-looking kids pouncing on middle-easterners. "I've been to Australia, of course, several times. What makes this so funny is that Australians like to portray themselves as so laid back and welcoming."

I was so annoyed at this point, I would have disagreed with anything she said. "That's hardly true. They're the ones who turned back a boat of Afghan refugees and sent them to live on some desolate island. And they were with us in Iraq."

"Well, so was Poland," she said, as if that fact negated my point about Australia. And then she added in an undertone: "I've been there, too. Spent a summer teaching in Warsaw." Like she wanted to resist saying it, but couldn't, so she settled on speaking in sotto voice.

When she learned I was Canadian, she said, "Oh, really? I met a group of Canadians in Indonesia. My cousin lives in the east."

I didn't care where her cousin lived, but my friend asked, "East? Do you mean the east coast of Canada?"

The well-traveled troll flipped her hair back and waved her hand, as if hoping that would suffice. "Yes, you know, over there."

I think my friend was still confused as to whether her cousin was Canadian or Indonesian.

"Do you mean Prince Edward Island?" I asked.

"Oh, no, none of my relatives live on an island." She sounded insulted at the very idea.

"Novia Scotia? New Brunswick?" I continued on, determined now to pinpoint this cousin, and making each suggestion with the same relish I'd have had pushing pins into a voodoo doll.

"No." She tried to laugh, but it wasn't quite the silky, conceited laugh of before (I got to know her laugh well, because she always laughed alone). "I can't recall the name of the place."

Joe said, "Kellas' relatives live in Vancouver."

"Oh, I know Vancouver." She chuckled as if she and Vancouver had once been lovers, and she was recalling one of its romantic foibles. She shook off the memory and said, "My family is made up of world-class track and field athletes."

"Are they shot-putters?" After all, she was built like an East-German shot-putter.

"No. They are decathletes. We have several top decathletes in my family."

I said, "I didn't know Vancouver was known for its decathletes."

"Oh yes," she said, surprised at my ignorance. "Vancouver and Washington are famous for their love of track and field."

We ended up at a dance club. On the way there, she went on about how she didn't need a man, and how she pitied women who felt they needed to be in a relationship. "I'd rather be happy and single than miserable in a relationship." The very pretty girl who made up our foursome listened to her politely and said, "That's a good saying." She couldn't withstand the encouragement and blathered on, "A man should only enhance your life."

"Like eyeshadow?" I asked. I had noted that the weary traveler was wearing bright blue eyeshadow. The pretty girl laughed. If the woman had been a cat, her fur would have poofed immediately (as it was, her bleached, permed hair was so poofed out that from the back, her head did look a bit like an angry cat). Her acolyte had betrayed her with that laugh. Thankfully, Joe broke in with a comment on the traffic, and the battle was over.

At the club, she was noticeably older and less amused than anyone else there. She plopped down on a barstool with a vodka and remained there the whole night, whispering snarky things about me to the pretty girl, who sat beside her. I danced the whole time, and her derision as she eyed me was obvious, but pretty soon, thankfully, people blocked my view of her.

Coming home, she complained about the drinks being so expensive, but Joe said, "You don't really go to those places for the drinks," and then she started going on about her high tolerance for drugs and alcohol, as if hoping we'd find it surprising and somewhat shocking -- after all, she was a well-traveled high school teacher who when she wasn't boasting about her travels boasted about her wine collection. But I was not shocked. Joe said, "I've never done any drugs, except for weed." "Oh, that's hardly a drug." When no one else volunteered any drug experiences, or comments, she said, "Not to say that I've done any real drugs, either....." She laughed nervously. The stress of fooling herself must be getting to her, I thought. I got the impression that she spent her whole time trying to make herself believe she was someone she wasn't. Because if she could just fool herself, she could fool anyone.

Anyway, this woman reminded me very much of my ex boyfriend's ex girlfriend, the New Zealander who asked me if living in London were scary, after spending my life on a farm. (My ex must have told her I was from the midwest, which to her meant farm living...funny, that coming from a sheep-loving New Zealander.) But I'll go on about that some other time.