Familiarity in the Cockpit
Last weekend’s Sunday Star Times Sunday magazine had a fun essay by Leah McFall lamenting how hard it is to meet-cute in Wellington – that is, have one of those lovely romantic-comedy style accidental meetings with the fellow of your dreams, usually involving something quirky like bagels or poodles. It’s impossible here because, as we all know, in Wellington everyone knows everyone.
The essay isn’t online (boo, Sunday magazine!) but I thought it was worth sharing this bit, where Leah comes up with a magnificent metaphor for Wellington’s dating scene:
It’s like when you step onto a 16-seat propellor plane. There’s the guy at the top of the steps who rips your ticket, stows your laptop and passes round the Minties. Then he puts down the lollies, tugs on an earpiece, strides to the cockpit and starts the ignition. That’s what you’re dealing with, in Wellington: the man who is everywhere. How can you meet-cute with that? You’ve met him before.
Being a recent arrival to these parts, there are still many social dots I’m yet to connect, but I’m already finding strange connections in places I’d least expect it.
But perhaps there’s an advantage to this small-village scene? After all, if everyone knows everyone, you’re soon going to hear what your pilot’s crash rate is like.