If there is one place that is the hub of impatience, it’s an airport. It’s hard to understand, since that’s one place where you can be assured that you have absolutely no control over anything at all. So why go nuts about it?
Gotta be first in line for tickets. Gotta be first in line for security. Gotta rush down the corridor, swerving around everyone with the two huge carry on bags because I don’t wanna wait for checked bags. Gotta be first in line at the bagel place. Move it, I need a latte. Gotta jump up 30 minutes before it boards and hover by the gate door. Even though I’m in seat 5A and they only ask people in rows 30-20 to board, I gotta get on the plane NOW. I gotta be sitting in my seat on the aisle when everyone else boards, then huff and moan when I have to stand up to let in the two other people in my row.
When are they serving the drinks? I want it now. I want another one. Now.
We’ve landed? 100 cell phones are whipped out and beeping and loud conversation begins, even though you’re supposed to wait until the plane has reached the gate. Jump up and grab your bag, NOW. Stand there for 20 minutes before you can move off the plane, and then rush your way out without letting anyone in front of you.
Crimony.
So, here I am in Chicago. Ta-da!
One little comment about O’Hare Airport: outside the airport, along the road where taxis idle, where huge shuttle buses spew out toxic gases, and where tour buses simmer in their deadly vapor, there are “smoking shelters” – enclosed glass boxes where people can smoke and the rest of us don’t have to be worried about breathing in that second-hand smoke.
That’s irony, folks.
