4 Min read

Who’s Watching You?

WPM, Reading speed

1 Book rec

Unconventional skill

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AVAILABLE ON PODCAST

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I got on the plane in Augusta this month, heading to Charlotte, or maybe it was to Atlanta. Anyway, it was one of those narrow body jets with one seat and two seats across. My husband had a seat a few aisles up and I was happy to have a solo seat.

It had been unseasonably warm for January so I had on a blazer over a white, fitted oxford shirt, and favorite jeans.

Here’s what was interesting about the flight, a short hop to the hub.

If you’ve been to the Augusta airport, it’s all about the golf. The small terminal had a bronze statue of a man on a putting green. Don’t remember who he was, but I do remember James Brown’s display of swanky clothing and a vibe that said, hey we have golf here, and we also have the Godfather of Soul.

What stood out more than these static displays were the very young, fit men in civilian clothes, for the most part sporting short hair. If you know anything about the South, then you know that nearly half of the US Army hails from Georgia, Alabama, and the Carolinas. All together maybe a dozen or more made up the somewhat surprisingly quiet and congenial group. Across from me sat a man with long black hair in bell-bottom jeans. Though he looked different, he was just as fit, the printed tee shirt sleeves tight around his biceps.

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The gate agent called for military to pre-board and half the passengers stood up.

My husband and I chatted about what these guys might be up to. Nearby Fort Gordon is home to the signal command, Army Cyber Command, and key intelligence units. Were they preparing for a covert mission? Had they come for training or a briefing on unconventional warfare?

There was something unconventional alright. I would learn that soon enough.

I was in a late boarding group, and I looked at my ticket for my seat number–9A– before checking in. Then I checked it again on the ramp. I ducked as I stepped onto the plane and walked down the aisle. A soldier was in my seat. A stout man with scrubby gray beard and hair just as short, chatted with his seatmate, maybe his partner, a bleached blonde of similar height. His arms were tattooed and he watched me, as I paused at his row, row 9.

“Excuse me,” I said to the soldier. He wore glasses, was built like a linebacker and had thick hair. He was surprised when I stopped.

Gray Beard leaned towards me. “The seat is 9A.”

I waited for the soldier. Maybe he had ear buds in, I wasn’t sure, so I nodded at him that this was my seat. He shifted around.

Again, Gray Beard said, “IT’S SEAT 9A.” He leaned closer and I turned toward him.

“My seat is 9A,” I said.

I looked at my ticket again, and waited for the soldier to look at his ticket. I checked the number above the seat. He realized he had the wrong seat and stood up to move.

Gray Beard watched me closely as I settled in. I pulled out Virginia Evans’ new book, The Correspondent, and began to read, taking breaks to look out the window. You know the feeling you get when your neighbor wants to chat? And I’ve met some fascinating people doing just that. That’s the feeling I had with this man.

But I wanted to finish the book and our earlier interaction peeved me.

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I was not prepared for what happened when we deplaned.

It was his moment. I had nothing in my hands and was completely captive.

He said something to me and I had not expected it. Numbers, he said numbers and mentioned my book. What?

Gray Beard had my attention.

“One twenty two,” he said, quietly. He had bright blue eyes and they watched me intently, just two of us in that moment. “A page. You read a minute and twenty-two a page.”

Turning away, I grabbed the handles of my bag. Then I responded.

“I’m a slow reader.”

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The observation was a bit unnerving as I began to reflect on it during my layover.

A strange man timed me and counted pages over the course of an hour flight. He wanted me to know it, waited to share this bit of human calculus. I told my husband later, as we watched the group of soldiers head towards the Amex lounge. We skipped the lounge and ordered over-priced sandwiches in the food court.

“That man knows more about my reading speed than you do,” I said.

Why did he do it? Did he have a habit of studying people, in his profession? Maybe he didn’t like that I was right about the seat. Maybe he was intrigued, a creature who thrives on observing others. Maybe he was curious about me.

I’d say he was in his late 40s maybe 50s. But what about his blonde seatmate, who was dressed like she came off the beach?

Here’s what I know. I stopped to look out the window when I wanted to think about the characters and plotlines in the book. I also wanted to finish during the flight. After we landed, I learned I read 1:22 a page, from a stranger.

The average reading speed is 200 to 250 words per minute (wpm) and this puts my average speed around 300 to 350 wpm. I read slowly when the writing is dense and something I thoroughly enjoy, a kind of leisurely, not-wanting-it-to-end pace. Until Gray Beard informed me, I hadn’t really known my reading speed.

TreeHouseLetter has a tagline for reading time, calculated on an reading average of 250 wpm, so at 1000 words that is a 4 minute read for this post.

Here’s the sweet ending for me, dear reader. My husband upgraded our seats on the connecting flight so we could sit together on the way home.

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FOOTNOTES

*Reading speed calculation — If you don’t have a stranger watching you to calculate your reading speed, you can start here. LSAT Hacks has a chart on WPM and a Reading Speed Calculator. The founder Graeme Blake is that rare bird who reads at 500-600 wpm and founded the site to help wannabe lawyers. They’re the type of folks who live in Dictionopolis. That’s the fueding town of Digitopolis in Juster’s Phantom Tollbooth. Yes, Diction vs Digit. Fun, IKR. If you stop to think about it, reading twice the average speed or more, that’s like living twice the waking hours, or not needing sleep, in a digital age.

** The Correspondent is Virginia Evans’s new book and is written entirely in letters. If you’re curious it has 277,000 ratings, with 4.6 on Goodreads. As you see, the appeal goes beyond wordnerd letter-lovers such as myself. The protagonist is an elderly woman who is going blind. She writes to favorite authors, family and new family (spoiler–there’s an adoption theme), new beaus and others, seducing the reader with a fascinating interior life, intrigue, and romance–yes love in your 70s. Huge fan that I am of letters, I took to the book immediately, mostly because I like the protagonist, who is more than a bit curmudgeonly.