Traveling Thoughts

There is a new quote hanging over my writing space today:

“What are we but our stories?” – James Patterson

Yes.

Okay, as I write this, it’s not hanging there yet, but it will be as soon as I can get home and fire up the printer.  And find the tape.  Because having a teenager in the house means that you can never find the tape.  Or the scissors.

At the moment, I am sitting in the Houston International Airport terminal at six in the evening.  Four hours ago, I asked for a different seat on my flight back to San Diego, and they gave me one.  On an entirely different airplane.  Leaving seven hours later than my original flight.

I’m not complaining.  They also bought me dinner and gave me a $500 travel voucher.  

So at the moment, I am feeling a little bit like Tom Hanks in “The Terminal”, except that I will probably not have time to build a fountain and I will absolutely not be romancing any flight attendants, particularly ones that look like Catherine Zeta Jones.

I did buy a book at Borders, though.

It’s an interesting experience, spending a day at the airport.  I like the atmosphere, though I have to admit that I’m not too fond of the lack of any quiet places.  Nine hours of CNN will drive anyone bonkers.  And, of course, there are those people who will sit next to you in an otherwise empty waiting area so that they can use their cell phones.  Quick shout out to the guy who keeps pacing back and forth by my chair: Thank you for finding the one thing that’s more annoying than simply sitting near me and shouting into your phone.

It’s wise to have some things lined up to do if you’re spending a day in the airport.  Now, to be fair, I spent the afternoon in the airport at Pensacola on Monday, waiting for my travel partner…and didn’t need anything to keep me busy.  There’s an observation area in the terminal, and I spent the afternoon watching airplanes take off and land…something I hadn’t done since I was a kid.  It brought back some terrific memories of weekend afternoons with my dad, pointing up into the sky and learning to recognize airplanes by their shape and sound.

This afternoon, however, I stopped by the video store (yes, they have one in the Houston airport), and purchased a copy of “Must Love Dogs”.

First, I’d like to point out that this is not a good movie for a single guy to watch.  That said, it’s still better than reading James Patterson’s Sam’s Letters to Jennifer.  Wonderful book, but not to be attempted without a box of Kleenex at the ready.  (If you can read this book without getting misty-eyed, you are made of iron.  Not just your heart.  Your entire being.)

Because the Houston airport isn’t well suited for plane-watching, I’ve been spending a bit of the afternoon people watching.  Let me paint a mental image for you:  I am seated with my back to the windows, facing the waiting area and the concourse beyond, because people are more interesting to watch than parked airplanes  To my left is an aluminum-shrouded pillar, which has the electrical outlet needed to juice my laptop.  To my right is a row of chairs, and suspended from the ceiling 10 yards away is the HDTV screen showing CNN nonstop.  Non-frigging-stop.  (How nonstop?  I am able to monitor Ariel Sharon’s condition more closely than his own doctors are.)  I am alternating moments of furious tapping at my keyboard with peering over the top of my glasses at the people around me and passing by.  Some of these people go by several times, and have been going by for hours.  I am apparently not alone; there is unquestionably a whole community of Airport Lifers here today.  Some of them I am particularly curious about: the pretty blonde in the purple sweater who has, in the last ten minutes, twice gone by on the moving walkway in both directions and just went by on the courtesy cart twice, once in each direction.  What is that about?  Perhaps she is triplets.  

While I’m thinking about it, I’d like to honor the high point of my trip today: as I passed through security in Pensacola, the TSA agent checking IDs looked at my retired military ID card and thanked me like this: “Have a great trip today, Kurt, and thank you for everything you’ve done.”

A week later: I came away from the day at the airport with an overwhelming sense of goodwill toward my fellow travelers, and people in general.  I know this is not as curmudgeonly as I’m sure most of you prefer me to be…but it is a fact; most of the people I encountered were, like me, just trying to get where they were going without too much trouble.  

That feeling was undoubtedly influenced by the fact that the seat they finally gave me was a window seat in First Class.  This was a first for me, and let me tell you...I wouldn’t mind travel at all if I could do it that way every time.  It was worth the extra seven hours in the terminal to sit where I didn’t have to ask the guy in front of me to take pity on my knees.

It was a good trip.