I sit across from the fattest man I have seen in ages. Everything bulges, sticks out. His sneakers are enormous and, yes, I think I can smell them. The man has a round chubby face, which reacts sporadically to notions in his dreams. On his left, and to my right, sits another man, shadily talking business on a cheap looking cell phone. I imagine he gambles, that’s just what his face speaks. This other lady nearby just rests her head in her hands, rubbing the mascara clots of boredom from her eyes. She has just demolished a chicken sandwich and appears either guilty or dissatisfied. Further down in the room, I notice a man who looks identical to an old history teacher of mine. It takes me a moment but I gradually convince myself that there is no plausible explanation as to what he would be doing here.
Regardless, I am distracted at this moment by a pretty young lady with tight pants. She passes by me real close, leaving an inescapable trail of perfume behind her. She’s not quite my type but has a nice walk to her, kinda like how a metronome sways. Somehow unimpressed, I move on easily and keep on looking about. There is so much going on here at once, so much activity. People drifting along in their worlds, ignorant of mine or anyone else’s. They’re reading papers and crossing legs, chewing gum and biting nails. Typing keys and yawning too, they do anything to pass the time. Boxes on wheels get dragged and pushed, sometimes get kicked around. Women in wheelchairs have wandering eyes, the pusher just doing his job. Some sit, some stand, all look tired and lost.
Suddenly their attention is grabbed by a monotone voice cackling bad news over the loud speakers. They whine and they moan, grind their teeth and groan. One dude in particular is flipping out, going ballistic. They’ve revoked his ticket, stripping his rights. He yells and points, waves his arms all around. About every twenty seconds he backs off from the counter and paces around in a circle, gathering his thoughts. Then when he’s good and ready he goes back in to chew them out some more. The ladies with uniforms do their best diverting the abuse, all the while calling for help. Then security shows up looking real mean, heat and cuffs hang by their belts with clout. The argumentative one, who judging by his thin beard really could not be more than seventeen, calms down immediately. Noticeably mollified by their baldheaded authority, the boy apologizes and nervously explains himself. However, I am bored by this predicament at this point, for the quarrel is over and no arrests will be made.
As a puppy barks and a baby cries, I shift my eyes to the more pleasant outdoors, visible through a row of giant windows to my left. The sun shines and the clouds are light, a perfect spring day in March. Men with reflectors are unloading black bags, others drive around with hectic purpose. Inspectors poke around and check the engines, ensuring safety for the trip ahead. Simply amazing how this whole operation works, really makes you think about life. Staring out at my chariot I wrap my head around its existence. It is powerfully sleek and boasts potential energy, a true icon of ingenuity. In no time at all it will hurdle me towards home. I will sit thousands of feet above ground, staring down at clouds and cities as we pass them by. I will be shuttled in this tin can straight across a developed nation, high above all its noise and commotion. Until then, I am just one of the many that sit around here just idly wasting time. I realize all a sudden that these people mean nothing to me. They exist in my world like those background folks in movies do, just so crucially worthless.
I stare now instead at the wavy patterns in the carpet, allowing my eyes to blur the lines. Lingering around in this place sure does suck the life out, I can feel anticipation devouring my body. Again raising my head, I see the sun has dropped a few degrees since last I looked, but still shines sweet over the ant-like workers. They operate as robots would, paid to be programmed. At least they have the freedom of fresh air though, I figure. Better at least than being pent up in this big busy cage, I add. Doomed by layover, left grounded by mistakes, and sick with terminal illness, I close my laptop and open a book. Only three more hours till liftoff…
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