A Country in a Glimpse

I love to travel. More than just seeing new places it is about the people, how they do things what they do for fun, what they tell about the world. Then there are the airports. As the years have gone by I am more and more fascinated by the concept of airports hubs to the world, a snapshot.

I strip down at the security line putting my things in the grey plastic bins. Countless lines of people do the same: shoes off, jackets off, laptops out, liquids out. It is a mandatory bottle neck, people forced to slow down. Yet in those grey tubs I see something disgusting: advertisements. I don’t know why I have such a knee jerk reaction to it but I do. There is something about the obligation for people to slow down because of a “terrorist” threat only the be forced to be subjected to advertising as they put their belongings in a bin. I guess we don’t get outraged about that type of exploitation, it goes unoticed, buried somewhere in our subconcious only to manifest itself as we have an unexplained desire to buy something.

I make my way to Chicago, one of the busiest hubs in the country. People scurry around: stiff businessmen in charcoal suits, cologne trailing behind them, moms pushing strollers the baby inside drooling, sucking on a pacifier. It is mid day an energy in the air. People even have enough motivation to stop by the numerous stands set up to give flu shots.

I go to my interview.

I wait for the shuttle. It starts to snow, the first snow of the year for me. Huge snow flakes, fall to the ground. I’m in a small airport in Rochester, two Indian women in the corner try to lighten their massively overweight suitcase a cornucopia of goods: plastic tubs, cookies, candies, triscuit crackers. I got to yet another security line. There is a family of four, the two young kids struggling over what to take off and put in the bins. The young boy dutifully disposes of 3 small yogurt containers.

I’m back in Chicago and make my way to the gate. The gate agents are in a debate about an old woman and whether or not her oxygen tank can go on the plane. I guess it wasn’t like ads on the bottom of security bins this was an old woman with an oxygen tank! I look over at a sign on the counter: level orange. Nevertheless, the old lady was able to get on the plane with her oxygen.

I land in Los Angeles and get off the plane, the length of the trip getting to me, I walk slowly to my gate. I go to get some food at a Burger King (one of the only options in the terminal). I look up at the prices, a hamburger meal is nearly $10. I thought back to my finiky eating habits during my childhood in my little Idaho town. I was kicking and screaming in the car pleading for my dad to go back to Pizza Hut. He resisted because we didn’t have the $10 to buy a pizza. Work never payed well. Years later I was spending nearly 10 dollars on fast food. I opted for the chicken tenders, I never liked hamburgers. Ten dollars for fast food, advertisements on security bins, a toddler throwing yogurt away because it was not allowed on a plane. A lot has changed in my short life.

“Rudolph the red nose reindeer, had a very shiny nose…”

It isn’t Thanksgiving yet but the Christmas music is in the air. I dab the grease from my fries. A family sits next to me, their baby crying because he didn’t get his french fries. He calms down when he gets his food. I think: plasticity in the brain, addicted to fast food, inevitably leading to problems later in life. But who am I to think that, I am dabbing grease from my french fries. I don’t finish them, I know I’d get nauseated if I did. Two more hours to burn.I go to a book store, endless rows of magazines, shiny, much like the faces and bodies on them. Breasts, butts, abs begging you to look. Attractive celebrities, white toothed smiles telling me how to improve my life and be happy like them. I walk by the duty free shop, cologne and perfume fill the air, rows of alcohol glisten on the shelf.

I go back to my terminal a man barely able to fit in his chair, green shirt hugging him, eyes half asleep, extra large soda in hand slowly opens his eyes to take another sip as he is numbed back to sleep. I hoped that baby at Burger King would not become like him. A little girl across from me smiles as she looks up at her mom, here eyes glitter as if ignited by some sort of excitement that I could not relate to as the twelfth hour of my trip rolls on. A young woman sits across from me eyes intent on her laptop. She occasionally looks up at me, a brief smile, then back at her laptop. The little girl gets up, hot pink flip-flops skipping away as she goes to her plane.

Someone brushes up against me as she sits down, setting down a huge pink blanket and a bag full of chocolate and candy. The woman is middle aged, her eyes uneasy, darting, red as if just crying. She sports Chanel jewelry. She flips through her designer wallet a hundred dollar bill passes by. She takes out her tabloid magazine.

“Do you like this dress?”

It was a lavender dress on Halle Berry, her breast very prominent abdomen protuberant.

“She looks big.”

“Yeah, she’s pregnant.”

I am obviously out of the loop.

“Do you think she’s pretty”

It is Katie Holmes.

“Yeah. She’s a lot more quiet these days”

“I think she’s too much of a good girl. I don’t think she has any friends. Look at this dress she looks like a slut.”

It is time to board the plane.

“You have a good night.”

In line another little girl, pink shirt and pants. She is jumping up and down next to her mom, barely able to control her excitement. I look down at her a big smile on my face, refreshed by the genuine happiness in her eyes independent of chocolate, Chanel, and tabloids.

“How old are you?”

“Four!”

She jumps up again.  I sit in my seat and fall asleep, the fourteenth hour of my trip rolls by.

“Welcome to Seattle.”

I take a deep breath in. I’m home and can rest.