Airport Cast

I love airports. The thing I like most about them is the opportunity for people watching. Now that flying is something just about anyone can afford to do at least once or twice in their lives, the airport becomes a veritable potpourri of cultures and personalities. There are some, though, that you see on a regular basis:

The Salesperson. You can spot a sales person a mile away. They’re always polished, appear confident and are unusually pretty (even the guys). They have nice luggage and expensive shoes. They talk loudly—usually into the microphone on their earpiece, or worse, have an incredibly dorky Bluetooth device clipped to their ear. They’ll talk to anyone that’s nearby, and usually are pretty skilled at meaningless conversation.

The Old Couple. They’ve not taken many flights in their day. They’re likely to be heading to one of three places: 1) Vegas; 2) Florida; or 3) the grandkids’ house (or returning home from any of these destinations). They cling to each other as if to shield themselves from all the hustle and bustle. They have luggage from Target, or worse, from Woolworth’s purchased nearly 30 years ago. They don’t care about that, either. The husband wears a hat of some sort, and the wife sports an extra-large purse (which she MUST keep in her lap). If they happen to be returning from vacation, one of them—if not both—will be wearing a new sweatshirt that documents their trip.

The New Flyer. I’ve been stuck next to several new flyers in my day. One time, after having a good-natured and genuine conversation with a lady on a flight to Chicago, she asked if she could hold my hand during the landing. I obliged. It was actually pretty sweet. It’s entertaining to watch how people deal with the stress in these situations. Some are talkers. Some are fidgeters. Others pray or grind the gloss off their rosary. They rarely get sick, and at least in the instances where I’ve been a witness, none of them have died, either.

The Military. Young and dumb with crewcuts. Mmmmm.

The Rule Breaker. This guy (almost always a guy) usually comes from the salesperson genus, but he is a specie on his own. He’s always late, but expects to be treated specially. He complains about the security process. He talks on his cell phone after the flight attendant tells him to turn it off. He stands up before the plane comes to a complete stop. He usually has a cocktail or two. He always asks for a third, or a fourth, but generally gets turned down. He treats flight attendants like the “help.” He always appears angry. He’s probably on blood-pressure medicine. The whole plane is embarassed for him. He thinks he's cool.

The Big Guy. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against people that struggle keeping their weight down. But I’ll be goddamn if I don’t always get stuck sitting next to the biggest guy on the plane. Once, on a 3-hour flight from NY to FL, I sat next to a 300 lbs. Hasidic Rabbi that sweated profusely and hadn’t used deodorant since his people fled the Holy Land. This scarred me. I’ve never quite recovered.

The Talker. I like to do my own thing during a flight, like reading or working or sleeping. Unless I’m trapped next to a talker, I don’t typically engage my rowmates in small talk. The Talker engages you, though. You are captive. They ask probing questions. They don’t take a hint that you don’t want to talk. They just think you’re shy, which makes them work even harder. They talk about unimportant things. “You heading home or heading somewhere else? What do you do? How long you staying? Oh I love that place. I’ve got a nephew that lives there. I haven’t been there in years. How’s the weather in Kansas City? Boy, those Royals really suck, huh?" Kill. Me.

The Recliner. This is the guy that leans his seat back into your lap. I have a very hard time controlling my rage against these people. Do they not get enough sleep at home? Are they so selfish that in order to eek out 5% more comfort for themselves, they're willing to take away 70% of my workspace? Aside from the mental daggers I send them, I also find that on some planes (especially older ones), you can put your air vent on High and point it directly on their head. This has worked for me several times. I've also been known to wait until they're sound asleep, then give their chair an incredibly agressive whack with my knee (followed by a "sorry" shrug if they turn around in disgust). If you're a regular Recliner: F*ck Off!

Then there’s me. I’m The Disillusioned Traveler. I'd rather not fly, but I know I have to since trains and horse-drawn carriages just aren't what they used to be. I scoff at people that say "I'd love to travel with my job like you do." I reluctantly stuff my 36” shoulders into a 30” seat. My 6'3" legs get folded into a space designed for someone that's 5'9". I'd rather be at home with my dog. My laptop battery always runs out. Since I fly at the last minute a lot, I sometimes have to sit in the middle. This makes me want to open a vein.

BUT... I’m always polite at the airport. I understand that sanity and patience are the two most important ingredients in air travel (besides lift and drag, of course). I keep my tray-table stowed appropriately, and pretend to listen to the flight attendants when they tell me where the exits are. I don't throw paper products into the toilet. I turn my phone off (most of the time). I won’t bother you if you’re sitting next to me, and there’s a good chance I’ll help you with your luggage. Heck, I’ll even swap seats with you (especially if you’re sitting next to a sailor in uniform!).

If you ever sit next to another Disillusioned Travel, give him/her a knowing nod. It just might be me, and I'll definitely nod back.