#airportthoughts

[bianca-alexander88]

The irritated woman in the black mask cuts in front of me in the line at the slowest Starbucks in history, legendary. The Pearson airport Starbucks by gate D42. Like a snail’s pace. Her drink has yet to appear and her flight is now departing. She wants a refund. The girls are like deers in the headlights and stumble and mumble but explain a refund will actually take longer than just making her drink, ignoring the fact the woman doesn’t have time for either. The woman huffs and puffs and barely contains a temper tantrum. The young girl goes back to now making her drink, despite the fact that the irritated woman has left. No refund, no drink. Bye. 

[bianca-alexander88]

I am sitting in the AirCanada lounge, vaguely working on editing an academic journal, when I see a confidently frumpy white woman, mid 30s like myself, in a matching silver velour tracksuit, plop down aggressively in a seat a few rows over. She has a small dog in a bag that’s barking and a reluctant and visibly tired, travel agitated husband trailing behind her, who grunts at the small yippie dog to “cool it,” as he sits down next to the bag. I get it, my dogs are annoying too sometimes, no matter how much I love and adore them. I eavesdrop on her outgoing phone call, to whomever it is she apparently has chicken sitting for her; I learn that she is both a fur and feather mom. Hearing the one side of the conversation, I can discern that one particular chicken has particular grooming preferences that must be respected by her temporary guardian if there is peace to be had in the coop while feather mom is away. Detailed instructions are left on the kitchen island, next to her sourdough starter, in case the chicken sitter feels inclined to make sourdough while she is there. “No pressure though,” laughs the feather mom. She begins to tell the origin story of her sour dough starter when my attention drifts away. 

[bianca-alexander88]

I head toward security, visibly stoned, given away by my blue eyes. Based on their squinty glares as they assess me as I approach, I know that security knows that I know that they know. Despite priority status, I am pulled aside for an additional search by an ambiguously hostile tall white male security guard with a salt and pepper goatee and square glasses, not at all complimentary to the oval shape of his skull. He asks to search my backpack, I giggle awkwardly from under my beanie and comply with a nod, “Sure, my dude.” With a dramatic grunt, I hoist my heavy Hershel backpack on the stainless steel table for inspection. In a flat, stern tone, he asks me, “What kind of electronics and technology do you have in here?” “Just my laptop and a super sucker vibrator.” He stares blankly, not speaking, “I carry all my valuables on me.” 

[bianca-alexander88]

the airport is a cruel and indifferent dimension

[plantdaddy23hrs45min]

[toofanbaisa]

Listening to three old folks behind me, whisper conspiratorially about the state of politics makes me think - how intensely involved we get into politics when sitting amongst friends, intensely conveying our points and our rightness. When it comes to the actual arena of standing up for the right versus saving ourselves, how often do we do the latter?

[iamruchirrahul]

I think I need a closer shave. #deepthoughts #airportthoughts (at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport)

[teenagebrainsyndrome]

#snappydresser or #modernbutch #airportthoughts (at Orlando International Airport (MCO))