The airport was crowded, due to the number of flight delays flashing on the boards.
The man in the suit with the briefcase sat working out just how horribly late the delay would make him. He’d been staring at his watch for a while, mumbling, when he looked up with a start. He hadn’t noticed the elderly, shabbily-dressed man sitting opposite. Slightly embarrassed, he said, “Four hour delay! Can you believe that? It’s unreal!”
The man rubbed at his stubble and said, “There are times when belief is all you’ve got. As to whether it’s unreal or not, well, philosophers have been arguing about the concept of reality for centuries. As far as I know, they still haven’t figured it out.”
Still annoyed with his flight’s long delay and confused about what the stranger was saying, he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms and said, “Sorry. Wasn’t following that. Been sitting here an hour with three more to go.” He stood and stretched some more. Stepping forward, he said, “I’m in sales, on my way to an all-day meeting that I’m going to be very late for.” He smiled and put out his hand. They shook.
The other said, “Pleased to meet you. I’m a vagrant.”
The traveller sat back down, looked around and raised his eyebrows. “You’re a vagrant, you say?”
“A vagrant, yes. A tramp, if you like. A hobo, wanderer, vagabond, drifter, transient, or a homeless person perhaps.” He puffed out his lips. “You know, one of those people you see wandering around aimlessly, eking out a simple existence with no visible means of support.” He grinned.
The other went to say something.
“Oh! Yes. To answer your unasked question, there’s a cold wind blowing out there. It’s much nicer in here.”
The man looked out through the large windows, and said, “I see what you mean.” He sat back, staring at the scruffy individual with newfound interest. “Although, I’m not sure that I understand what you mean about things being unreal,” he said, aware of a sense of growing curiosity.
The vagrant rubbed his knees through dirty jeans. “Albert Einstein was right, you know. He said, reality is only an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”
“He said that, did he?”
“He did.”
“I must say, to be honest, it’s hard for me to equate all this with everyday life.”
The old tramp sat with his head down, thinking for a moment. He looked up. “OK. Think about the popularity of those ‘Reality TV shows’. Where’s the reality in that? Then, just to make matters worse they come up with virtual reality.”
“Yes… I see your point.”
“And another thing. Dead people don’t clap.”
“Dead people?”
“Yes, dead people. All those recordings of people clapping; you know, on comedy shows. TV shows, where there’s no audience, just some clown with his fingers on a volume control, editing in canned laughter and applause. Somebody says something funny and presto, the audience cracks up.”
“Yes, but dead people?”
“Sure, just think about it. Think about when the show was made, calculate how many years have gone by since then; see what I mean? Simple arithmetic really.”
“I see.”
“None of this helps anybody get a grip on reality, does it?”
“No. I suppose not.”
The old man looked up at the gallery above the escalator. He up stood slowly. “It’s probably warmer up there,” he mumbled, then nodded at the delayed traveller. “Well then, there you are. It’s like I said. If philosophers through the centuries couldn’t figure it out, what chance have we got?”
With that, he gave a little wave and moved off through the milling passengers.