flying
We pass the new National Airport terminal. Airlines are housed in multiple domes, accented with yellow and white panes. It's vaguely insect-like. I adore airports. The thrill of travel, of going somewhere, anywhere but where I am right at that very minute. Chicago, LA, fucking Des Moines for all I care.
I love the anonymity; passing strangers who are destined for exotic or mundane destinations. The possibility of seeing a film star or infamous politico excites me.
Come fly with us. Fly the friendly skies. Teee--W--A. The luxury of Air France. The mediocrity of Valujet. The utilitarianism of Southwest. I always arrive early--at least an hour before departure. Once inside, I amble around the sterile buildings and into a ridiculously overpriced store. I flip through 1/2 dozen magazines, caressing each lovely, glossy page. Cosmo, InStyle, Elle, Glamour. I buy one or two, along with some sort of chocolate bar, a Snickers most likely, and go to an airport lounge.
Seated at the bar, I'm nearly asphixiated by the smoke and stale body odor of my fellow passengers. I order a $6 beer and ponder the ethics of airport bar tipping. I settle on a dollar tip because I figure it's not the poor bartenders fault if the airport is reaming me for a flat Miller draft.
Some middle-aged man with a really obvious toupee sits down next to me. He's wearing a thick, cheap wedding ring and a faux Rolodex watch. I stare into the head on my beer and pray that he doesn't speak to me. Of course, he does. "So, where are you off to little lady?" (little lady? I cringe at his attempt to be quaint and homey. He's still back in the 1950s, eating ding dongs in his mother's pastel yellow and pink kitchen as she pops a tuna casserole into the oven). "I'm flying to Chicago on business," I say. "Hmmm, is that right? A young thing like you on a business trip. We'll I'll be darned! Things sure are a changin," he mutters. "Yep, they sure are. We'll I better be off, my flight takes off in 10 minutes," I say.
I slurp down the rest of my drink and leave. My flight doesn't leave for another 45 minutes but I'm sure as hell not going to spend that time listening to that man ramble on about the horrors of the modern woman.