There were two sub-groups within the tour. One from Kansas City which numbered 25 or so (never figured it out for sure) and a group of six from different parts of the country that were kinfolk to one another or long time friends. Then there was the rest of us. At the very first boarding, the tour coordinator watched how slow I was moving with my cane and all and tagged me as his "aisle blocker" as opposed to any of the others. So he took me aside and assigned me the front right seat reserved for the handicapped and ask me to get on and off either last or first. At my speed that meant always last. The seat actually had less leg room than the other seats because there wasn't a seat in front of it, but it looked directly out of the front window. As a photographer that pleased me greatly, and even offset to some degree the "handicapped" designation which I found embarrassing.
Forty people on board, 38 of who were gracious friendly kind and helpful. Then there was me and this other guy. He was in the group of six. He was 69, slim trim and healthy and very active, as were all in his cadre. They were the ones that went to all the shows and river rafting and the little hiking trips and so forth. He and his wife had claimed the seat across from us and just behind the driver. 3&4 of his group was behind them and 5&6 were right behind us. They were all nice people. He, not so much as nice. It seems somewhere in the process he wanted the best seat for photographs. (His camera was a Nikon DSLR with lens that inter-changed) But instead I had it. Whoops.
He really wasn't a photographer. He was a poser. Double meaning that word. He posed as a photographer and as a photographer he like to com-pose his photographs by posing people in them.
Now you begin to see why my wife says, "Let it go!" No, no, not me.
He took away a big chunk of my peace of mind with little side remarks, none so offensive that anyone could challenge him on them. He didn't appreciate that the tour guide had placed us in the handicapped seat, where he wanted to be. So for five days he nibble away, and I behaved. But still I hate his type. Just saying, my meds really are working and he is a lucky guy that they are. The wife says he will always be miserable because nothing will ever be quite good enough for him. Well I don't do schadenfreude, I like immediate open revenge or let revenge grow cold then have at it. I don't remember his name. Made a point of that. So I'm writing this little tirade to dispose of my last bit of spite for him, knowing that there are others others out there like him. I just hope they sit several seats down from me next time and I'll take my tunes to block out their mutters.
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