Sitting in the airport terminal, I am glad the restrooms are clean. This is probably the cleanest airport I’ve ever been in, very bright and airy, lots of space. There’s even this funky colored internet terminal from which I’m writing from. It costs only .10 euros per minute; pretty cheap, but I think it is that way only because the keys stick and are metallic. Everything needs to be typed in twice and it takes considerable effort to jam each letter down. Still, I like the ambiance a lot, which is important since we are camping out in it for probably the next two days.
Long story short, we were not aboard the plane when it flew off, and everything is overbooked until Monday. I won’t go in the nasty details on how it is *mostly* not our fault and how customer service can be downright hostile (except for the last guy who helped us, he cool) but we are unwinding and taking all of this rather well, if I do say so myself. Reflecting on the past two weeks helps with the de-stressing. We even got our names thrown on tomorrow’s standby list. I might be able to get to work on time! Shucks!
With all this time to think, I am a little sad about our impending return. It feels like judgment day, the light coming in from all the wrong points. I have been spending my time reading this random, depressing-as-hell book purchased just around the corner from McDonald’s and smoking nonstop at the entrance gate. There are all of these thoughts but they sort of run together. I don’t mind sitting here for hours, it is peaceful, maybe this is what being homeless feels like… time just trickles out and stops being meaningful. My discarded cigarette is all smoke and grime now, fanning lazily like a tracer. It is a signal, intent on seeking rescue, but the other cigarette in my mouth calls off the rescuers. Chill out, it tells everyone.
I want to stay in transition. My neck hurts from smoking. Too bad there are no seats at these damn internet terminals. Can you believe it took an ungodly 45 minutes to post this entry?