About five or so years ago, I was at Logan airport in Boston, after visiting friends there, about to fly back home to Seattle. I was standing at one of the big windows at the pax terminal, just waiting and passing the time.

And I was dressed as I often am, in a long black duster that comes past my knees, and a broad-brimmed black hat. At the time, I was wearing my beard on my cheeks, instead of just the goatee I have right now.

Anyway, as I was standing and musing, a hand touched me on the shoulder, and someone asked me a question in Hebrew.

I turned around, and the person who had touched me blinked, backed up, and apologized. I was amused.

He was wearing the clothes and had the hairstyle of an orthodox Jew. From the rear, he had assumed that I was one as well.

Tags: stories
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