you get away with murder and you think it's funny
Airports are never pleasant, always at least boring, often frustrating. Landing in a foreign state to find your connecting flight has been delayed is a special pleasure, especially when the delay is massive, apparently affecting a great many flights in the general region. The delay is an hour? Two hours? Uh, wait. I was supposed to leave at 8:30, and the plane is getting here three hours later? Yes, the boxes of snacks and drinks you provide is going to make me feel a lot better about this.
No. Traveling alone is a special torture. There is no one to share my pain. I glare at the couples en route to Detroit together and think You have each other. I hate you. Confident that no miracle will save this night and bring it anywhere close to what it should have been, I explore other areas of the airport, music plugged directly into my head (as it should be). I pass the other full gates with other tired people waiting for other delayed flights. I shrug. I find the other terminals and dance down the moving walkways, accompanied by the Dandy Warhols, the La's, Mest, Outkast, Oingo Boingo.
That kills some time, but there is much more waiting to do. Never have I been happier to see a plane arrive, and an hour (and a time zone on top of it) later, never have I been happier to feel a plane touch down.
Since then, nothing but good. Schedules mean little. Doing whatever whenever is appropriate.
Laughing in the rain. Ducking in out of it.
Playing games. The best kind of violence.
Napping on the floor, waiting for a flower delivery.
Meeting people.
Walking to a convenience store late at night. Staying there for hours. Helping to stock the coolers. Walking back.
Reading.
I lost it altogether. I started tipping chairs, screaming at the top of my lungs, hollering that I wanted my books, how was I supposed to GET ANYTHING DONE without my books, throwing coffee mugs. I hollered that I couldn't deal with all these STUPID CRAZY FUCKED-UP PEOPLE if I didn't have SOMETHING TO DO. I was going CRAZY in here, it was BAD ENOUGH without them TAKING MY BOOKS, and I was led down the hall, shrieking and kicking the walls, kicking my closet, kicking the heater and punching anything solid, then flopping down on my bed, screaming once more into the pillow, taking a deep breath, and then I started to bawl.
-Wasted, Marya Hornbacher.
Zippy's battery was nicely drained by my amusing myself in the airport, so I had little to do on the flight but read. Skymall catalogue, Spirit magazine, The Tao of Pooh.
No. Traveling alone is a special torture. There is no one to share my pain. I glare at the couples en route to Detroit together and think You have each other. I hate you. Confident that no miracle will save this night and bring it anywhere close to what it should have been, I explore other areas of the airport, music plugged directly into my head (as it should be). I pass the other full gates with other tired people waiting for other delayed flights. I shrug. I find the other terminals and dance down the moving walkways, accompanied by the Dandy Warhols, the La's, Mest, Outkast, Oingo Boingo.
That kills some time, but there is much more waiting to do. Never have I been happier to see a plane arrive, and an hour (and a time zone on top of it) later, never have I been happier to feel a plane touch down.
Since then, nothing but good. Schedules mean little. Doing whatever whenever is appropriate.
Laughing in the rain. Ducking in out of it.
Playing games. The best kind of violence.
Napping on the floor, waiting for a flower delivery.
Meeting people.
Walking to a convenience store late at night. Staying there for hours. Helping to stock the coolers. Walking back.
Reading.
I lost it altogether. I started tipping chairs, screaming at the top of my lungs, hollering that I wanted my books, how was I supposed to GET ANYTHING DONE without my books, throwing coffee mugs. I hollered that I couldn't deal with all these STUPID CRAZY FUCKED-UP PEOPLE if I didn't have SOMETHING TO DO. I was going CRAZY in here, it was BAD ENOUGH without them TAKING MY BOOKS, and I was led down the hall, shrieking and kicking the walls, kicking my closet, kicking the heater and punching anything solid, then flopping down on my bed, screaming once more into the pillow, taking a deep breath, and then I started to bawl.
-Wasted, Marya Hornbacher.
Zippy's battery was nicely drained by my amusing myself in the airport, so I had little to do on the flight but read. Skymall catalogue, Spirit magazine, The Tao of Pooh.