When I was traveling a few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend a considerable amount of time in airports and on actual planes. You might think that I found this to be a not so very pleasurable way to spend my time.
You would be dead wrong.
I was in heaven, my friends. Airport heaven. I love airports. The sights, the sounds, the smell of the Cinnabon Stand (which I did not succumb, just so you know). I even loved the movie, Airport (circa 1975). The one that starred Helen Reddy as Sister Ruth, and a young guitar toting Linda Blair. Now, that was entertainment. Oh, and I can’t go into an airport without reliving pivolal scenes from Stephen King’s “The Langoliers.” Shudder.
I had a 6:00 flight out of Charlotte, but arrived at the airport at about 1:30. This was my first attempt at traveling with a laptop, so I became awfully adept at trolling for unused electrical outlets. In Charlotte, I found one, near an empty seat, next to a window ledge (which was just wide enough to hold my coffee) and I settled in for the long haul. Other computer dweebs sauntered by, eying my outlet, chair, and handy cup holder, but I wasn’t budging. Even with my teeny tiny bladder issues, nothing was going to make me give up my coveted seat.
And I sat and wrote. I wrote for hours. And when I tired of writing, I cleaned out my mailbox. And streamlined my documents file. And then dusted my computer screen. With my shirt. Because I’m a class act.
OH, TO SIT AND NOT HAVE TO ANSWER A MILLION QUESTIONS THAT START WITH, “MOM! WHAT HAPPENS IN CASE…(insert horrific pending incident)?” I didn’t have to fetch anything for anyone, or wipe a single bottom.
Although, when the gal sitting next to me bent over and exposed her soul, I considered stuffing my trash into her pants. To save my retinas, and avoid a trip to the trash receptacle, thusly losing my coveted seat.
Finally, the time came to see about boarding my plane. I stood up, and I tell you, I thought I was going to be picking carpet fiber out of my teeth, because my legs were completely asleep. I wobbled for a few moments, then with spaghetti legs, I set off for my actual gate. When I arrived, I noticed that my flight was going to Denver.
I’m sure Denver is nice this time of year, but I didn’t want to go there. The gate had moved. I had to employ my fast paced trot on still-tingling feet to make it to the flight and still have time to visit the ladies room before boarding. To, you know, freshen up and all.
A word of caution about wearing Crocs in the airport. It isn’t the escalators that will kill you, it’s the floor wax used in the airport. (And Wal•Mart, btw.) While I’m traveling at a pretty good clip, my Crocs would suddenly and inexplicably come to a full and complete stop. Without me.
To the folks in line at E-6, if you happened to have found my lost dignity, call Delta Lost & Found immediately. I miss it.
As luck would have it, the plane was delayed. And not one empty electrical outlet could I spy. At long last, we boarded the plane. And by happenstance, I sat close to a very interesting passenger. And eavesdropped overheard a conversation. A conversation that may or may not have included dead people. And Mickey Mouse ears.
To be continued…