Airport Envy

I used to have a job that let me see the world. I know what it’s like to get on an airplane and get off in Manama, or Frankfurt, or São Paulo, or Wuhan. There’s a feeling, even if you’d done it hundreds of times, about leaving the country one night and arriving on the other side of the world the next morning; maybe the next night depending on where you’re going.

Now I fly a more normal amount. A few ski trips, a few conferences, a family vacation. I don’t long for more domestic flying. Sometimes, though, and I can visualize it very clearly, I’m walking through Terminal B at O’Hare, (because I bleed United blue), going through the underpass and all along the way, I see boarding signs for Barcelona, Frankfurt, Tokyo; and I get a twinge. I’ll walk to the waiting area and watch the frantic activity on the ramp as the fuelers, the loaders, the food trucks, and the tug drivers work to get the flight out on time. In Chicago they have a clock above the jetway that they can see out on the ramp. Sometimes you can see it from the terminal if you’re at the right gate. It’s green as it counts down to zero. You don’t want it to go red. Red is bad. Red means a gate that should be available and a flight that might miss its place in line for departure. They all have to work together and that includes the flight crew. They all get dinged if they have a miss. The whole thing gets me hyped up. I wanna go where they’re going.

What would happen, if I just popped on my United App and booked it right then and there and walked onto that plane. I’d have to come right back, because I have a job and a family, and you just don’t disappear on people who are counting on you. But I figure you can get away with a couple of days for almost anything. And besides, I’m in the airport. I’m going SOMEWHERE anyway. All my family cares about is that I’m gone and they want me home. Does it matter where I go? Work is another thing, but that can be managed also.

Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna stick my passport in my briefcase.