proofreading

i took my aisle seat between one large filipino man across the aisle and an older filipino man in the seat beside me discussing seat preferences. i asked if they wanted to switch seats to which the older man replied, "oh no, i like sitting next to you better, anyway."
i thought, "what a cute, old man."
we started chatting and he was unsure of how to stow his carry-on since there were important documents and he argued a bit with the flight attendant and confessed to me, "i don't fly that much."
so, i revised my thought, "what a poor, old man."
he randomly went off on what a nice person i was and how hard it is to find friendly people. i was a little puzzled because we hadn't really talked that much,
but i figured, "what a sweet, old man."
not actually feeling that friendly, i started getting out the in-flight magazine so he would maybe not talk to me. he noticed my passport in my travel book and asked if he could look at it and though i was a little wary, i thought, "sure, what could hurt? he seems sweet enough." he told me he was from chicago and asked what i did and i told him that i work with slum communities and he said, "oh, we do the same thing" and did i know he's a close personal friend of barack obama? i wasn't really sure what the "same thing" was. by the way, he noted, we're at 15,000 ft.
"oh," i thought, "what a knowledgeable, old man."
he asked me, since we do the same work, if i could perhaps be a consultant in their work to which i felt flattered, but again confused. i hadn't even told him what i do. he spouted off more on how i am great and did i know that? could i say that?
i said, "uh, sure, i guess."
"ok, can you say it?"
"oh, you mean right now. uhh...ok. i am great."
"you should know that." i can't really think of why he would think i'm great. he doesn't know anything about me.
so, scratch that last thought. "what an unusual, senile old man."
and he goes on telling me what "great" means: g is for genes, r is for respect, e education...and i wonder if he's one of those firm believers in motivational speeches and calendars. "...what's your father's name?" he asks. i feel uncomfortable giving him more personal info and make up a name. i have a sudden fear flash that perhaps he's a con and oh my gosh he just looked at my passport. he goes on telling me about the fat man across the aisle and that the fat man is his rich boss from japan who gives a truckload of money to the poor. funny, i think considering the fat man looks like the most filipino-looking person around us. he owns tuna factories in osaka and has a bank and so many businesses - oh, but he's humble! i am now certain this man is senile or funny in the head. he gets out a piece of paper and starts writing:

i am GREAT!

my name is: dr. alfred paul

my address is: osaka, japan

my bank is: mitsubishi

what does anything on that paper mean? does he expect me to write my name, address, and bank, too? things don't add up - he's from chicago but hasn't flown much? he's worked in community development but calls my occupation a title with a completely opposite meaning.
oh no, scratch all previous thoughts. i think, "what an old, con man."
now the fat man takes over and talks to me. he's mitsubishi but i can call him mits. he tells me that he's really rich and he gives money to the poor. did i know he's on his way to support a home for the aged? i can't really believe anything he's telling me and besides, my mind is racing usual-suspects-style thinking back on the whole flight going through the pieces of personal information they have gathered. mits asks for my contact info and i scribble a defunct email and spell my name incorrectly.
i thank god we've landed and i vow to google this pair on the off-chance i'm wrong and b-line it as far as possible away from them. because, though this last read is perhaps the best, it's not the one i like.