An airport is a painful place to be if you're not sure when you're leaving it.
I spent seven hours in the Tampa Bay airport on Sunday, waiting to come home. On standby. I got there at 11 a.m., hoping to catch a 1 p.m. flight to Atlanta, thinking if I could just get there, I'd have more options to carry on to Los Angeles. But apparently, Atlanta is a popular option for people with confirmed tickets and, after working through it with a patient woman behind a counter, it became clear my only hope was the one direct flight of the day. At 6:45 p.m.
"It doesn't look good, but it's your best shot," she said, with her best bedside manner.
My best shot was a longshot, but I had no choice. So, I foraged through a discarded newspaper for a crossword puzzle, took it in the wallet for an Americano at Starbucks, and settled in for the wait.
It didn't take long for the constant stream of people coming and going to start eroding my mood.
Look at that guy. Why does he look so goddamn happy? Oh, right. 'Cause he's got a confirmed frickin' ticket.
Ooh, look at me! I just got off a plane. Can't wait to see someone I love. Asshole.
That's right, lady. Cry 'cause you don't want to go wherever you're going. But at least you know you're going where you don't want to be going instead of not knowing if you're going where you want to be going.
Clearly, I was starting to go crazy. Like a postal worker. Or someone who works at It's A Small World.
Happiest place on earth, my ass. La-la-la-la-la, la-la-laaa-la-la...what are you looking at, kid? I'll give you a few words you can say in any language. Keep floating! And keep your booger pickers inside the boat at all freakin' times!
I was stuck in a place meant to be passed through, watching people's planes come and go, not knowing if I would even get on mine. Waiting.
I hate heavy handed metaphors as much as the next guy, especially when they catch you upside the face, but halfway through my second beer at the airport T.G.I. Fridays, I realized that's what was killing me. I was in a mother-lovin' metaphor, for crying out loud.
This place I'm in, this hangar full of atrophy and apathy and angst, where I do nothing and dream nothing and fantasize about being one of the happy pigs with a boarding pass...it's not meant to be a final destination, no matter what anyone says into their stupid little phone thing. And if I continue to stay here, I'll just continue getting angrier and crazier and bitterer (I know that's not a word, but it's my blog, so shut up.).
I'm done flying stand-by. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, because it's much cheaper to fly stand by in the literal sense, and these are rough economic times.) No more checking flight loads, to see what my best longshot is. No more camping out at Gate E64, hoping someone misses their flight so I can take their seat. No more standing still and hoping the moving walkway does the work for me. (Quick question to people who actually do that in real life: How lazy ARE you?)
I have talent to spend. I think it's about time I bought a full-fare ticket to wherever the hell I want to go. Who knows? I might even go first-freakin-class.
Bing! I am now free to move on with my life.
David, this is great! I want to live in a world where I only go places I can get to by ship. Or transporter.
Posted by: Walter | 11/12/2010 at 08:37 AM