Damn You Aaron Sorkin

I settled in for my return flight from Chicago on Monday, armed with my laptop and Season 2 of the West Wing to help me through the flight. The West Wing Episodes are kind of like Julia Roberts movies for me, I have seen them all many times but they still haven't lost their punch! I arrived to the airport early and was looking forward to catching an episode before boarding.

To set the scene, the terminal was quite crowded (I had no idea so many people get to the airport with so much time to spare). The only seats available were the ones painted bright red and clearly marked and reserved for "Passengers Needing Special Assistance". There was an open bank of 4 of these seats with not a single person in them. So, I planted myself in the end seat, opened up my laptop, and told myself I could just get up if someone needing special assistance seating arrived. I could feel the eyes on me. The scorn and disapproval of my fellow traveler's based both on their disbelief that I would deprive a Special Assistance person a seat and that they had not been bold or clever enough to sit there first and were now seated next to the eleven year old restlessly rocking back and forth while playing his PSP.

Ultimately, the passengers in F8 broke me. I cracked. After having lost the pyschological test of wills I settled to the floor, precariously perched upon my overstuffed carry-on.

It is from the floor that I watched 2 gunmen try to shoot and kill President Bartlett. It was in a huddled mass at foot-level that I noticeably sobbed and cried as Mr. Sorkin recounted with wit and heart how that happy group of fast-talking politicos met back in New Hampshire to get "the real thing" elected. Once again, Mr. Sorkin reduced me to a tearful mess.