airport dreams
i wonder if there's something inherent in the concept of airports that makes them the way they are. the concept is almost magical, of being conveyed through the air from the place where you are to an incomprehensibly faraway one. the reality though, of course, is infinitely banal. detritus of capitalism. bored young men at shoeshine booths with their chins resting on their hands. businessmen completely absorbed in whatever it is they're doing, talking on their cell phones, reading newspapers, or looking for the toilets. mothers yelling at children. unsublime things. but when you think about it, could it have turned out any other way? that's why i almost love airports. the dichotomy between the dull and the transcendental. ah.
i assume it's less lurid in countries where marketing is less omnipresent, but i do remember there being a lot of stray dogs in and around the (distinctly unglamorous) airport in athens.
flying from hartford to chicago i sat next to a pink-faced man who ordered a can of beer for five dollars, flipped through the magazine in the pouch on the back of the seat in front of us, tried to sleep, took a book out of his briefcase and stared at it, ordered another can of beer for another five dollars, tried to sleep again, and then finally turned to me and said: what brings you to chicago? he looked like the father of a friend i had when i was young. we talked for awhile. he was a paterfamilias from Indiana. a sort of pillar of the community type, from the other side of the Irony Curtain. like his name should be douglas or jeff or something like that. he asked me what i was studying and when i told him he said, so are you going to be a teacher? i said fortunately i'm from a social class where i have the luxury not to think about that sort of thing. i was joking, of course; he didn't understand. he asked me, so it's safe to travel in Eastern Europe now?
i don't want to make it seem as though i'm condescending or making fun of him. i liked him. he pulled my bag out of the storage bins for me. he seemed like a really decent man. that sort of peasantish optimism and goodheartedness; of course that's condescending to say in itself. i'm not going to say it was refreshing or amusing or any more authentic than anything else, but i liked him, in any case.
i assume it's less lurid in countries where marketing is less omnipresent, but i do remember there being a lot of stray dogs in and around the (distinctly unglamorous) airport in athens.
flying from hartford to chicago i sat next to a pink-faced man who ordered a can of beer for five dollars, flipped through the magazine in the pouch on the back of the seat in front of us, tried to sleep, took a book out of his briefcase and stared at it, ordered another can of beer for another five dollars, tried to sleep again, and then finally turned to me and said: what brings you to chicago? he looked like the father of a friend i had when i was young. we talked for awhile. he was a paterfamilias from Indiana. a sort of pillar of the community type, from the other side of the Irony Curtain. like his name should be douglas or jeff or something like that. he asked me what i was studying and when i told him he said, so are you going to be a teacher? i said fortunately i'm from a social class where i have the luxury not to think about that sort of thing. i was joking, of course; he didn't understand. he asked me, so it's safe to travel in Eastern Europe now?
i don't want to make it seem as though i'm condescending or making fun of him. i liked him. he pulled my bag out of the storage bins for me. he seemed like a really decent man. that sort of peasantish optimism and goodheartedness; of course that's condescending to say in itself. i'm not going to say it was refreshing or amusing or any more authentic than anything else, but i liked him, in any case.