YACK on: People
Grant Sanders
Iused to like people. Years ago I lived in the city and was able to tolerate large crowds. I could stand in line patiently. I could ride the subway and be jostled by smelly guys from Revere on a crowded trolley. For 10 years, living in downtown Boston, I bothered no one, and no one (except one person) bothered me. (The one person who did bother me did his bothering with a gun and a ski mask. That ended badly. For him.)

But after living on Nantucket for over 12 years, I have stopped liking people, for the most part. The wide open spaces and the quiet and solitude that one can find here, even in the summer, has spoiled me. I am used to my solitude. I am used to going for hours without hearing the sound of a human voice. I'm used to walking long woodland trails without seeing another person. These days, I would rather be on the beach with my dog than with just about any human, except of course, my wife, and my kids and a handful other people who are close to me (you know who you are).

Of course, this is not a good attitude to have. And I try like crazy to enjoy being with people when the opportunity arises. I also do a good amount of work off island with actual humans, so not liking people is not a luxury I can afford to have and still pay my bills. But it's difficult.

I was visiting a new client the other day. I sat in a meeting with a dozen people, each of whom had a Blackberry device strapped to his or her belts, set on vibrate (A Blackberry is a wireless device that delivers emails anywhere you are). Throughout the meeting one could hear the low buzz of vibrating Blackberries all around the room, every 45 seconds. And then one or two people would grab theirs and look at the screen with a wrinkled brow and then put it back down again. One man in the meeting had two Blackberries - one that vibrated in long pulses, the other that vibrated in short bursts. A bit much. And all I could think during the meeting was that it sure would be nice to be walking on Capaum Beach or the Stump Pond Trail right then, away from the harried hum of 13 vibrating hand-held devices and the people who were seemingly controlled by them.

My general dislike of people came to a head this weekend when I found myself stranded, with my 82-year-old father, in the Newark International Airport due to weather. The day started out fine. We arrived in Newark with plenty of time to make our connecting flight to Providence. It was snowing lightly. Our plane was there. The flight crew was ready. We were just waiting for the goahead from airport operations. That goahead was pushed back every hour until dusk, when the airport closed completely.

Suddenly, there was a whole airport full of people - roughly estimated at about a kajillion souls - all needing a place to stay, or a new way to get home, or both.

My father, who once was a successful surgeon, no longer has his A-game and he needs a lot of direction and support. Had I been alone, I would have jammed myself onto the PATH train heading into New York City, hooked up with some old friends, seen a show, had a great meal and then crashed at the hip and trendy Royalton hotel just off of Times Square, until morning when I would have grabbed an Amtrak train or bus to points east. But with my father in my care, that was not an option. I called to secure a rental car. I got my wife on the phone and asked her to grab me a hotel room online. I tried to find out where our bags were and looked onto how we might put our hands on them.

Problem was, everyone else had the same ideas. The throng - the unruly and angry mob - all thought with one brain. Picture 1,200 people trying to grab a cab in the sleet all at the same time. Imagine 50,000 people looking for a hotel room. Many with laptops, snagging the best rooms before my wife could snag one for me. Imagine all rental cars sold out in minutes (we were very lucky to get one thanks to the help of my wonderful friends at the Avis Counter in Hyannis). Picture 20,000 people disappointed (and genuinely surprised) that it would take close to six hours, minimum, for anyone to locate their luggage. (We abandoned or luggage realizing that sooner or later, it would find us.)

In situations like this, even the bestrun airports become a nasty crush of humanity. Imagine 2,000 people trying to board a tram that comfortably holds 100. Imagine 1,000 angry business travelers with bulky, toe-crushing, roll-a-way luggage, beeping cell phones and don'tblank with-me attitudes. Imagine my surprise when the bus I transferred onto with 60 other people, after braving two other forms of transportation, took us all right back to the terminal where we had begun.

It brought out the very worst in people. People I didn't even like in the first place.

Strangely, I was able to resist the urge to scream at a kajillion people to "get the hell out of my way." I just smiled, took care of my father, and got a splitting headache. Thirty-nine hours after setting out the previous morning, and after hooking up with my brother in Providence, who took my dad the rest of the way home from there, I got back to Nantucket. I had no winter coat (it was in my carry-on). I had no camera (same place). I smelled bad. And I was tired.

But I was met at the airport by two of my favorite people. My wife, Barrie, and my dog, Seven. And I was happy again. And suddenly, I was hit by an urge to go out, and be with a crowd of people, in a popular restaurant. And that's what we did. Go figure.

YACK on. I

Grant Sanders is the host of of YACK, the Nantucket Online Community at www.yackon.com and while he generally dislikes nearly all people, he does like you. His views are his own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of The Nantucket Independent. Or his wife. Grant, as of this writing, still does not have his luggage back.