Irony at the Airport.

I am caught by irony at the airport. It’s not a place I would choose to go, but alas I must. However, each time I go to the airport, I am pleasantly surprised. With each visit, I find myself with room to laugh amidst the jumbles of people. Again, I must emphasize the airport is not a place I would choose to spend excessive amounts of time. However, it is absolutely hilarious. It’s the one place where middle and upper class Americans unashamedly sprawl out on the grimy carpet for a nap. There are many germy mysteries in the carpet, but the carpet is good enough for a nap nonetheless. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Upon arriving at the airport, it’s all rush and chaos and lines and cluelessness and stress. People look down at their flight information that they printed at home and then back up at the apparently confusing signs that indicate which airlines are which. And then when it’s settled, it’s time to wait in line, awkwardly shuffling overstuffed luggage with each step forward. It’s seems as if that man in front of me despises the clothes he packed.

After being sufficiently baptized into the airport by the check-in lines, it’s time for the notorious security checkpoint. This is what airports are known for. If you’re with a group, then at least one person is going to get stopped. The question is “who will it be this time?” “I just hope it’s not me!” It’s time to take off your shoes and belt. You begin to walk forward and then you hear a loud beeping. You realize there’s loose change in your pocket. Oh well, maybe next time.

The security checkpoint is finished. What’s next? It’s lots of people looking around as if suddenly struck with the inability to read large signs with simple print. And then after discerning the seemingly arcane meaning of those strange signs written in crayon, people race off to their “gate.” Why is it called a “gate” anyway? Why not call it a “portal”? But then again, this is the twenty-first century, so I suppose we could call it a “door.” This may be my favorite part of the airport experience because as I sit and wait at the “gate” I finally have the opportunity to take in my surroundings. At the airport, people dress all sorts of ways. Some dress as if they have just left a business meeting and perhaps they have, while others seemed to have just rolled out of bed. Still others seem to be on a hike! It’s confusing because then I don’t know if I’m underdressed or overdressed for the occasion. Should I have worn shiny shoes or hiking boots? Or should I have dressed as that older gentleman with extra short khaki shorts and tall dress socks with white sneakers?

Once at the “gate,” everyone sits and waits and waits and waits. Then I begin to laugh. All that rush to sit and wait and wait and wait! And then, as if it’s fate itself speaking, someone (a mythical figure at the airport) announces that it is time to board the plane! People swarm to the “gate” only to wait again until their section number is called. My favorite guy at the airport is the guy who races to the front of the line blocking out everyone else, and then he is the last one to be called to board the plane. He epitomizes the airport’s rush to wait mentality.

Once on the plane, the airline reiterates its low expectation of the travelers’ competency by instructing us on the proper procedure of buckling a seatbelt. Thank you airline. I only wish you had been there this morning when I got in the car. I wasn’t sure what to do.

Connecting flights are similar to referees. If everything goes well, you don’t notice. But if you miss your flight or a referee misses a call, it’s a serious offense! But it seems connecting flights and referees are each needed in their own way.

The baggage claim area is a mixed bag so to speak. It’s the best of times and the worst of times. Different people have different ways of waiting for their bag(s). Some folks seem rather indifferent, as if they despise whomever it was who packed the bag they are consequently required to pick up. Conversely, others wait as if on the edge of their seat curious what it is that the airline has in store for them. I remember one particular occasion my bag had been “lost.” I would’ve like to have asked who lost my bag, but it seems as though my bag had been placed on the wrong plane by a phantom.

The airport is hilarious. I can think of no other place that has such a potential for such a diverse collection of people, and as a consequence it has the potential for the most unexpected hilarity along with perennial hilarity. It’s a stage of comedy where the world converges with the sole purpose of diverging.