The Airport Shuffle

Traveling has its virtues and rewards, and, as Yang must follow Yin, it has its pitfalls and punishments too.  Getting to and through airports is a definitively Yang-like experience.

Just getting to the airport can be a hassle, unless you live under the flight path a quarter mile away, in which case you have bigger Yangs to fry.  

Do you drive yourself, take a taxi or shuttle, ask a friend?  If you are newly married your spouse will gladly take you.  If you've been married a year or more the option is permanently off the table.  And asking friends can lead to their sudden illness.  If you ask them so often they run out of believable diseases they may stop being your friend.  Or volunteer for extended jury duty.  

Shuttles are tough because they make several stops, seemingly randomly, and all over the map too.  If you have an 8 am flight they make need to pick you up at 4 am.   If you arrive at the airport at midnight and want a shuttle home, expect to get there as the sun is winking over the horizon, having toured for more miles than your flight.

Taxis are too expensive, perhaps not in monetary terms, but you lose a bit of your soul.  Limos are easier on the spirit, but not the wallet.  But they are options, and both look rosier if you aren't traveling alone and have someone to share the ride.  And pay for you, if possible.

But mostly you drive yourself.  And that means parking.  I've gravitated to the parking vendor whose radio jingle is permanently lodged in my hippocampus.  It's so deeply ingrained I expect even blunt force trauma or the ravages of Alzheimer's couldn't dislodge it.  So I find myself on travel day winding up through the endless levels of the parking garage looking for one that is 'open', preferably a level not so high I need supplemental oxygen.

But the parking folks, no matter the vendor, are usually efficient and get you to the terminal on time, with a bottle of free water you have to drink quickly or throw away before you get to security.

If there is purgatory on Earth, the passage through security at America's major airports must be it, or a close second.  Don't misunderstand, security is important.  Nobody wants to fly next to someone wearing shoe bombs and a suit wired with nitro buttons carrying a bottle of explosive fermented lemonade.  But does it have to be so hard?  It's more soul-destroying than waiting on line at the DMV, or taking a taxi in LA.

But the lines do eventually end and once you have your shoes re-donned and your items repacked, and you've checked the portable dosimeter you ordered from an in-flight catalog to be sure the new whole-body scan hasn't neutered you, it's off to find your gate.  I've often wondered why so many air travelers today wear walking shoes, shorts or loose pants, and carry a backpack. Now I think I know the answer. Your gate could be already in sight as you re-fasten your belt or it could be somewhere over the horizon.  Savvy travelers come prepared for the long walk.

That walk to your gate is the penultimate challenge of the airport experience.  On your way you will pass several vendors of food and drink, clothing, magazines, vibrating lounge chairs, and other necessities.  Now is your chance to pick up another bottled water to replace the one you tossed in the trash at security, only not for free and at twice retail.  

It's also a good time to purchase something to read.  If you are the friendly type, buy a magazine so you can look up between articles to speak cordially with your seatmates.  If you are needing privacy, pick up a copy of 'In Cold Blood'.  Later, on the plane, scowl a lot as you read, occasionally murmuring 'they were railroaded' or 'curse you Capote'.  If you are feeling nasty and want to prick someone's bubble, buy a newspaper and open it at your seat as widely as possible, collapsing personal spaces at will.  Shake it every now and then too, as loudly as you can.

The Long Walk is also a good time to buy food.  As you know, most airlines no longer provide free food to economy passengers.  Some don't provide food at any price.  At least they still let you use the restroom - during the five minutes of your four hour flight the fasten seatbelt sign is off.

As with reading material, you have your options of food types to bring onboard.  I'd personally choose something warm that emits an odor that will permeate the plane before the landing gear retracts, but not so soon that the crew can order you off the plane.  The trick is to tightly seal the stuff and not open it until the plane is on the runway and throttling up.  Once opened and odor-emitting, enjoy the responses of your plane-mates.  They will either look like throwing up or will be dribbling lines of drool. Seatmates will be retracting to their most compact possible body position in an attempt to avoid contact with the oily and possibly staining goo-drenched wrapping intruding in their space.

Once past the food courts, newsstands, bars, and novelty shops (travel alarms and inflatable sleeping collars), you may be at your gate.  To be sure, check the monitors.  What's that?  Your gate has been changed from 49 to 4? And the flight boards in one minute.  

Time to run ...