Fucking airports, man. There is nothing more American than the mass of lowest common denominators that swarm to commercial airports. Whether its mid level managers severely overestimating their lot in life or teenagers coming down off the previous night’s high, there is never a shortage of people who drill into the furthest reaches of your soul.
Flying out of New Orleans the day after Mardi Gras (Ash Wednesday if you’re feeling particularly Catholic), was an oversight in trip planning on par with the Hindenburg’s chemical engineering and the Titanic’s escape plan. The lines were longer at 5 AM than they are at any point during a regular weekday. Despite wanting to murder half my linemates, I managed to avoid any felonies. I did forget to remove my laptop from my bag and put it in a separate bin (fucking TSA, man) making my wait time just a degree more miserable.
I would love to sum up this trip with a simple and effective hypothesis. But the truth is that this ill-fated attempt to escape reality is equal parts proving ground, procrastination, self-discovery, and money pit. I decided I was going to tour Europe alone around the time I decided that jumping straight to law school from undergrad sounded unnecessarily grueling. If this sounds like the most first world complaint you’ve ever heard, trust me, you’re preaching to the choir.
Maybe booking a flight plan with 3 separate connections wasn’t the greatest idea, but it didn’t seem like a huge deal at the time of booking. As I’m sure will become a trend during this trip, questionable decision making has spiraled into a potential fucking whirlpool. I am now in the predicament of making it from LaGuardia to JFK in goddam NEW YORK CITY RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC in under an hour so that I can go through customs (which I can only imagine will be a lovely experience), and pray to sweet baby Jesus that I make my flight to Milan in time. In the meantime, I’ve been stuck in Logan Airport for the better part of the day. The only silver lining in this whole clusterfuck is that I rediscovered Veep on HBO. Thank you JLD for keeping me sane.
While I sat silently fuming at the vagaries of “limited visibility”, my fellow fliers were less reserved. And nothing is better than people watching after flight plans get changed. Some grumble under their breath and move to the next gate half a fucking state away. Some vow to their travelling partner that they will never fly said airline again. But the best are the assholes who immediately hop to their feet and demand that the plane fly anyway. These extremely calm and measured demands are of course made to the poor, helpless desk workers in the terminal who have as much control over these flights as Donald Trump has over his cabinet. I’m starting to suspect that weapons bans at airports are intended less to prevent passengers from hijacking planes and more to prevent these employees from slaughtering an entire terminal on an almost daily basis.
This plane is dope. Everything is forgiven from earlier. I have an entire row to myself. I’m like the Michael Jordan of flight planning. Goodnight. (Buenasera?)