Thursday, May 26, 2011

Fly me to the moon

There’s something about the airports I absolutely love. 
Everyone is filled with the excitement of going to a new destination that you can’t help but get excited too – I swear it’s contagious! 
However, it never ceases to amaze me how our basic manners and concern for other peoples personal space just goes out the window as soon as you walk through those magnificent, futuristic sliding doors. It’s as if we've forgot all about our life lessons learned up until this point. Never will you have as many people body checking you as you do in the airport! And half the time it’s with their bags or they’re just so excited about seeing a Dolce & Gabana shop for the first time, that they don’t even apologize. Now, I realize it is a far out Canadian thing to do, by apologizing for every little thing. But, by the time I even make it to my tin-can you so call 'My seat', I find myself exhausted from saying that five-letter word. You rolled your suitcase, which I can only assume has the weight of 100kg of bricks, over my toes. “Sorry,” I say. Oh so you decided to stop dead in your tracks and turn around so violently you’d think you’d spotted Lady Gaga ? – Oh, my bad. I didn’t mean to bump into you while I was carrying on at my leisurely pace with, what I thought was enough distance between you and me to stop if need be, “Sorry.” Waiting at the food stand and someone cuts in front of you in the queue – No, please, you go right ahead, I’m sure your bag of crisps and coke are much more important to you then my bottle of water is to me, “Sorry,” I say, as a bead of sweat surely runs down my face. And the stereo types… It’s so down right embarrassing I can’t help but cover my face.
As I’m standing in the same queue, another man so rudely steps in front of me. And without even looking at the biggest wall of juice selections I’d ever seen, he asks the lady behind the counter if they have any orange juice. When she gives him a little look of confusion, he proceeds to say, “Orraaaaaange Juuuuuiiice, do you have any?” I don’t know why Americans feel the need to speak louder and open their eyes wider to be understood by Italians, but they do it anyways. Surely if she didn’t understand you the first time, why is she going to understand you now? If anything, you’ve creeped her out with your scary eyes and your louder than needed voice! I just laughed and muttered the word ‘typical’ under my breath. That was before I spotted him. That guy that I swear is in every-single-airport! You know the one! He wears a god-awful Hawaiian shirt, with flip-flops, has no business wearing his sunnies inside, and is more than likely scarring his teenage daughter for life, as she shyly follows about 50 ft behind him! How he always end up at the same airport I’m at is beyond me, but I think it’s safe to assume he may live there.

I would have to say my favourite thing to spot at the airport though is someone running. I love making up stories as to why they are full-out sprinting through the airport with that slow motion face that screams ‘Move out of the way!’ while everyone carries on walking [weaving, even] right in his path. I always move for the poor sucker, as I think he is running to catch the woman of his dreams, tell her how much he loves her and then proposes to her right then and there. I’m a hopeless romantic that way and think that a proposal based solely on spontaneity is as good as it gets. But that also depends what mood I’m in, or what romantic comedy I saw recently! My other story I often follow is that this man is running from the law. He was trying to smuggle in drugs, guns or more then the allotted 100ml of body lotion and got busted! But usually this only comes to mind when I see an authority figure running right behind him, as one naturally would!
The airport is an entertaining place. And I love to love it, as it is the only place where I find myself getting more annoyed with people the longer I spend there. Why just now as I am writing this, three different people at three separate [but not all that far apart] times came up to ask me, “Do you have the internet on that thing?” First off, please do not refer to my Macbook as a “thing”, thank you. Second of all, chill the F out. Are you unaware that the airport is not the jungle? You can get Internet if you want to pay an arm and a leg for 10 minutes worth. But, no! “I do not have the Internet, I’m actually just typing – Sorry!” The look of disappointment and shock I receive when they see a 20-year-old girl, like myself, is just typing and not itching to check Facebook is a whole other story I won’t even go into.