What I Think About in the Airport.

In the one-way line to get coffee a lady received her order and instead of walking 5 feet forward to the exit of the line, she turns around and stares at me.

“Can you move out of the way?” she?snaps.

“This is a one-way line. You are going the wrong way.” I reply.

“Excuse me.” she retorts as she pushes past me and back down the line against the grain.

I have been sitting and writing. I have 6 hours to kill because my flight was delayed. They haven’t stated a reason why my plane would be delayed for 6 hours. Could it be the weather? I say “my plane” to the ticket counter, as though I have some stake in the company. I am a shareholder. I have rights.

I can get some work done. I set up shop like some kind of Instagrammer entrepreneur. My devices are on the table. I am pulling in the free WiFi. I have my earbuds in. Everything is charging. I give off every possible sign that I don’t want to talk. I am busy. The first person that approaches the table motions to me. He starts to talk. I can’t hear him because I am writing like I have a deadline with the NY Times. He keeps talking.

I make big motions to pull the buds out of my ears and place them on the table in between us. My ear wax freshly dripping off each bud, they scream, “we were in use!”.

The man says, “Hey, this is great to find a spot that has a working outlet!”

Small talk. I thought he would tell me that my fly was down or that I had a booger. We have less to work with now in this conversation. I smiled.

“Yep.”

I put my earbuds back in because we have solved all of the problems that need to be solved right now.

I finish drinking a bucket of coffee and eventually, I have to urinate. I am comfortable. I have everything sprawled out before me like a booth at the local swap and shop. I am hosting a boutique. My abdomen squeezes and a shot of discomfort runs through my lower body. I need to go. The bathroom is so close. What are the odds that I can leave everything, pee, and return before anyone notices? Airport transients are honest, maybe they will leave my stuff alone.

I pack it all up like a roaming train hobo that was just evicted from the shelter. I move quickly. I relieve my bladder and wash my hands in under 5 minutes. Maybe there is a chance I can take back my warm chair.

I return to find a small Peruvian family of eight comfortably living in my previous residence. They have a hot plate, a small generator, and 4 dead iPads plugged into the only two available outlets. One of the kids asks to use my phone to make a long-distance call.

Is that still a?thing?

I find a small chair in the corner and watch people pass by. I love to personify everyone. There is the nervous lady who is constantly watching. She looks up every 90 seconds as though she is surrounded by serial killers. I give her a friendly smile as we lock eyes. She is certain I am the one.

There is the busy guy. He has a sports coat and is pacing with his cell phone in hand. It’s 5:30 am. The market isn’t open and commerce isn’t happening in this part of the world yet. His Sioux Falls luggage tags lead me to believe that he isn’t that busy. He looks that busy though. I bet he’s enjoying his earbuds.

There is the uncomfortable guy in a polo. The polo fit well a few years ago. He hasn’t had to dress up in some time, but today was the day. We all have clothes that we trust. What an awkward time to be alive.

We move into hour 3 of 6 at the airport. I am now working part-time at the snack stand. I also discovered that if I hand out paper towels in the bathroom at just the right time, I can earn a few extra bucks.

Three coffees and I have the jitters. There are so many stories to see in an airport.

I am post-Covid Tom Hanks from the movie The Terminal.

I am now pondering which new language I should learn. I choose Canadian, there are words everywhere in English that can help my transition.

I have met a few of the workers here. Fred let me use his radio. You need to say, “Over” when you are done talking on it. Denise invited me to her grandkid's birthday party next weekend. I will need to move some things around, but I think I can make it.

I watch people walk by. I love people-watching. My 9 year texts me. “Where are you going?”

“Salt Lake City” I reply.

He says, “Bring me back some?salt!”

I am a jet?setter.