Layover

A man in line, a few people down, was loudly telling his quiet teenage daughter to “Be patient! There’s nothing we can do!” His volume was such that it was clear he was addressing all of us and had volunteered himself to be some sort of support group daddy for everyone waiting the three hours in line. He scolded me for sitting on my backpack while I could have moved forward about 4 inches.  I watched him stare at an oblivious woman’s chest. I smelled the pungent, floral odor from my cats urine emanating from his travel case. We were all sitting in our own golden piss in different forms. The fluorescent lighting on all of our tired faces with our heads empty of any information added to the feeling we were in some kind of  overcrowded afterlife waiting for a sense of purpose.

   Once in front of a customer representative, I was asked by the drowsy woman behind the desk if I had been watching the weather channel. Her speech was slurred and her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. This is who God put in front of me, a woman between 30 and 60,  who must have taken an ambien a half hour prior. She urged me to get on a flight to Washington even though my connection from there was canceled. She said I should just sleep at the airport and see what they could do there. After I performed a show of desperation using my cat who did not mind, she, with the help of the man next to her pushing the buttons for her,  put me on a flight for two days later that I would have to cancel due to weather. I gave the line behind me a fearful “good luck” face as I walked away. In retrospect, I regret making that face. It was wholly unhelpful to the poor souls behind me waiting their fate, and entirely reactive on my part. I’m sure it could have only fed into a sense of doomy frustration. But alas, I cannot remold the play-doh of my mouth and eyes in that moment and I have to live with the impression it made in those peoples brains and hope it vanishes over time like a passing but memorable fart from a stranger.

  Air travel in the months of December and January has become a destabilizing concept to ponder let alone attempt. After being stuck in Newark during the cyclone of 2022 and missing Christmas all together, I have little hope for ever reaching my destination, while in the busy holiday months. I find myself now in Atlanta, not where I intended to go, but where I was meant to be. It was the farthest east I could get without being canceled again.

Georgia is cold, and sweet and still. My nervous system is unwinding after a frying last couple months that  made sunny side eggs out of my “new years plans”. Georgia is for coffee and memories playing in my head. I had forgotten about being 12 and going on stage at the Rocky Horror Picture show and being ordered by a heavy shirtless man in a gimp mask to suck a banana like it was a dick. I believe its possibly the reason why I dont like strip clubs. This incident did not have any effect on my ability to eat bananas which remains strong. My cat, Hal, is wondering if this layover is worth it if this is how deep I can get in my revelations. Hal is now echoing the customer service rep whose eyes were melting out of her face “WATCH THE WEATHER CHANNEL”.

I overheard that the man I had a major beef with in line was trying to get back home for his mother’s funeral. I made some space for him not to play a monster in my brain and even shared a shaking of the head smile of disapproval for the airport operations that day. Perhaps he needed to play dad for everyone, maybe if he played dad there was still a mom. 

photo is from universal studios tram tour.