I hate flying. I love airports. Every time I have to go somewhere I both look forward to and dread it. It’s a strange phenomenon how much I like airports. I do not like standing in lines and having to take my shoes off. Ever. It’s why I strive to be in the VIP line in my flip-flops everywhere I go. I want in quickly and easily. If I could afford the airport fast lane, I’d be in it later today. Also, I tend to wear shoes on airplanes both for their improved versatility and the space-saving effect of packing flip-flops instead of them.
Once you’re past the security line, it’s another world. There’s shops and restaurants you’ve never seen; magazines you’ve never read; people that seem to live there. You cross over, and suddenly you feel like getting a screwdriver. Fuck it, you’ll just be 40,000 feet in the air. You might as well be drunk. What happens in airports stays in airports. It’s Vegas without the gambling. (You can imagine how I feel about the Vegas Airport.) A friend of mine who will remain nameless told me a story of how he met two Russian exchange students while waiting for a flight and an hour later she was giving him the oral pleasure in an airport bathroom stall. Where else besides Vegas or a seedy nightclub could this possibly happen? Your chances of running into a fellow traveler again are slim-to-none. Why not go for broke and give me oral pleasure in a bathroom stall, girls? That line never works. Need to meet more Russians, evidently.
I have a nasty habit of buying three to four magazines before my flight. I always think I’ll read them on the plane but I forget the effect heights have on me. Maybe it’s the drowning engine noise or the comfortable seats (it’s not the comfortable seats), or my brain’s reaction to the terror that grips my mind at 40,000 feet, but I can’t fall asleep fast enough or sleep long enough. When I flew to China on a 17-hour flight (I’m guessing but it was long) I slept for 16 hours of it. The hour I was awake was spent eating, lavatory-ing, and looking at all of the Chinese people on the plane. By the time we make the landing approach, I wish the flight were an hour longer so I can sleep more. My brain is an idiot.
And now, random thoughts about airports.
I think Brookstone should have their stores exclusively in airports. If I have room in my carry-on, I’m liable to buy just about anything. And Brookstone sells “just about anything”. How is this store still in business? They are the leading purveyors of the world’s most useless useful items. They should change their name to “The Father’s Day Store.”
Unless you’re in Mexico or Spanish-speaking countries, it should be against the law to sell Mexican food in airports. Who the hell wants to eat a taco platter before they get on a 3+ hour flight? Of course, the law would not apply to Qdoba, as they make the best burrito money can buy. No flight is complete without a queso barbacoa burrito.
The chairs in waiting areas should recline. It’s impossible to take a quality nap in a crudely made bucket seat.
Do all celebrities fly privately? I’ve never seen anybody famous waiting at the gate 1.5 hrs before the departure time. Do they have to time it perfectly to run straight onto the plane? Wouldn’t that mean they’re always in a rush?
Actually, last time I flew out of Dallas, I saw Roy Halladay and his family waiting at the gate next to mine. I wasn’t sure it was him until I studied the pictures I secretly snapped of him in the bathroom.
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