Hula hoop girl

We weren't inside the Charlotte, NC airport for longer than 15 minutes before we ran into our first character.

She was wearing huge white grandma sunglasses, you could tell she hadn't washed her hair in days and her body was sprawled across three seats in the waiting area. She was lightly snoring and her tattoo-laced belly was exposed.

She could have been waiting for a number of flights but when the VI flight was announced, she sprung to life and sure enough, got in the line right behind me.

I reconized her scent. It was like waiting in the beer line at a Widespread Panic concert.

We boarded this huge plane and guess who grabbed a seat directly behind me. It was like the director of a movie called "Uncomfortable Flight Experiences" pointed at the girl, which was her que for a coughing tirade that attracted everyone's attention.

"I'm sorry," she said in a raspy voice. "It's my sinuses."

I gave her two Ibuprofens and a Tylenol PM for good measure. She was very grateful, stopped coughing and passed out moments later.

I was the hero of the plane.

Right before we touched down in paradise three hours later, she had gone to the bath room and completely transformed her appearance: red lip stick, a tropical scarf around her nappy locks and a short skirt replaced her warm-up pants. She was alive again and smiling from ear to ear.

At baggage claim, she stayed close and asked if we could watch her carry-on while she retrieved her lone checked item: a homemade stripped hula hoop. When I called her out, I shit you not, she started to twirl the thing right next to the conveyor belts and yuppie tourists.

The newspaper's publisher actually picked me up at the airport and I used the hula hoop encounter as an ice breaker as we lugged bags to his car. He snickered at the story but laughed out loud when we passed her sitting on the bus stop bench talking to two young men. Now I'm not sure if money was exchanged but it looked like the hula hoop was about to make another debut.