Back in Ohio, I realize that there’s something wonderful about getting away from time to time. Perspective. One gains tremendous perspective about one’s own place in the world simply by being exposed to more of it. There’s also the part about being off the earth, kind of like what the astronauts express about seeing the blue planet below them, just not as far up. Despite the current hassles with air-travel, I like being off the earth.
The thing about airports is that they’re still the one place where everyone has to maintain a certain level of decorum. One off color remark or slip of the tongue, and you’re out. There could be nothing worse than being the poster boy for Homeland Security simply because you’ve told the stewardess that the $6 sandwich contained too much sodium. Rather, you choke it down, both literally and figuratively.
Most people in airports attempt to put their best social graces on display. Generally speaking, the words “Better Sportswear” could be hung on the back side of the signs pointing to baggage claim. Being seen in less than Better Sportswear might signify that Greyhound had less than perfect connections.
There’s even a place for a quick shoeshine and manicure. Now that says something. Its especially true if the people on your plane didn’t see you having it done in the airport. They’re likely to make the assumption that not only you, but your home, is in perfect order.
Passing the Duty Free Shop, its possible to peek in and see all luxurious items that only those leaving the country may obtain. Or so they’d like you to think. Cigarettes are the only real bargain, unless you happen to live near a reservation. Everything else will eventually end up at Big Lots. Still, one can aspire to tax-free shopping, at least for the sake of appearances.
On the plane the golden age of air-travel is portrayed as something that still exists. The employees have stripes of some sort somewhere on their uniform. Four for the captain. Three for the first officer. Two or three for the cabin crew, but not of a contrasting color. Delta stewardess once again have the option to wear a hat, a red hat, referring to a happier time. Maybe its a reference to the fuel surcharge
Knowing that those who bring absolutely everything with them within their two-piece carry-on allotment will eventually say “excuse me” after slamming the overhead shut several times until it stays shut, as they ask to enter the row where you’re seated.
This is also the time where one sizes up with whom you might be seated. When I was commuting to New York, I used to spend hours practicing not speaking English, just in case. I’d carry the most obscure newspaper I could find, and in the event that I found myself seated next to someone who wanted to ask the “so what do you do?” questions, (which by the way, is in very poor taste), I’d concoct the most poorly constructed sentence I could muster up, stopping and starting with the slightest of stutter, smile inappropriately, nod my head in the affirmative, and fein interest in reading a paper which I could certainly not understand.
Before I’d perfected this act, I once told a laptop-toting, wing-tipped wearing, Brooks Brothers-buttoned seat mate that I was an Amway distributor. I enjoyed the rest of the flight in question-less silence, reading books in English.
Once above the winter clouds of Central Ohio, one could be just about anywhere. Moments after take off the sun is shining and beneath them could easily be Stockholm, London or the rural reaches of Alaska. There’s time to imagine. A sip of off brand champaign helps and the plastic cup is as easily disposed of, as are the wishes.
My editor and I were discussing these things this evening over Turkish coffee and cinnamon-raisin toast. Yes, it’s nice to finally say “my editor”, and since so much of my book is about what occurred on either side of nearly two decades of flying, these topics were mostly certainly in order. On a side note, we also discussed how we might convince Amy Sedaris to deliver cupcakes to us.
I recalled to him what I’d witnessed while passing through Cincinnati’s airport last night. At the gate from which the Washington/Reagan flight was being dispatched, complete chaos ensued. Hoards of people crowding the door, left behind newspapers littering the floor and general dismay. Similar were the areas for the flights to Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore.
At the gates for the flights to Paris and London, terribly chic skinny people waited patiently, and in the case of those waiting for the London departure, skinny and pale, and it may have been that the muted levels of British excitement were over having just been to the dentist while on holiday. The pound is very strong right now, making American dentistry even more affordable.
Then of course, there’s the departure gate for Columbus where good people with good posture sit and eat Cinnabons. Could it be that Columbus is just simply America’s favorite suburb? Frankly, it was the nicest place to find a seat.
Urban In-Fill 