One thing I do is travel a lot. Whether it’s to and from school or somewhere slightly more exotic, I’m pretty used to spending long hours in airports across the country. I know the Seattle airport better than some places in my hometown, and I’m always likely to run into someone I know, simply because it’s an automatic step in getting to or from Anchorage. Stepping into the “Pacific Marketplace”—Sea-Tac’s dining and shopping area—makes me automatically feel one step closer to home. Heading to the east coast so often, I get to experience many different airports: O’Hare, Newark, Minneapolis-St Paul, Denver, etc. There are a lot of different ways you can hop, skip, and jump across the country, especially when it takes at least three planes to get anywhere. I’m flying home today (!!!!) for the summer, and my 16 hours of flying have taken me through Bradley, O’Hare, Portland, and finally Anchorage. With plenty of time to kill both in the air and in the terminal, here are some things I’ve cataloged about the nature of air travel.
Airport food: There’s honestly nothing better. Every layover gives you an excuse to explore the terminal, killing time, and searching for some unhealthy snack or meal to tide you over for the next four-hour flight. I almost always go to Dunkin Donuts at Bradley, even if its not breakfast time. Today I went, ordered my iced coffee and egg sandwich, and realized I would not see another DD for several months. (East coast phenomenon.) There’s every option, from Chinese takeout to fast food to “Chili’s Too,” of you want to do the sit down thing. Since layovers are all about killing time, I don’t have to feel guilty about exploring each terminal’s options.
People watching: Easily the most entertaining thing to do at an airport. This is gonna be a conglomerate of every person the world has to offer—international, business, families, and wackos. Examining people’s outfit choices are interesting too—I’ll never understand people who wear stiletto heels and dresses in the airport, looking like they’re more prepared to head downtown than across the country. There are also the crazy outfits spotted in any crowd, but somehow exemplified by the fact that these people are simply sitting on their ass for any number of hours. Are the maxi skirts, pajamas, goth getups, etc, really necessary? I guess some people feel a need to make a statement wherever they go. There are also those classic airport staples of monks or other religious folk spreading their word throughout the land.
Shopping: Commercial America has really capitalized on people’s boredom. It’s always a thrill when walking off the jet way feels equivalent to stepping foot in a luxury mall. Seattle, Denver, and Minneapolis all have notable shopping areas. When flying home for winter break, I got all my Christmas shopping done at the Gap in the Philadelphia airport. It killed time and saved me from the hassle when I returned home. Denver has a Crocs store, always fun to gawk at, and Seattle has the best functional art store I’ve ever seen: Fireworks. It’s got quirky books, home décor, accessories, etc and I can always spend plenty of time there.
Airplane neighbors: You never know what you’re gonna get. I always hope I snag an aisle seat next to a cute guy, or really anyone my age. I dread the chatters—older women who want to know every detail of my young life, somehow reliving their younger decades by grilling me about mine. It’s always a gamble when you sit down—do you make polite eye contact, sometimes seen as an invitation for a non-stop conversation on your 6-hour non-stop flight? Or do you quickly avoid the situation by jamming in headphones and pretending to sleep? It depends on my mood—I don’t mind a few minutes of hi, where are you from, where are you headed, but I never know when its going to stop. There’s also the option of being surrounded by snorers, coughers, and screaming babies. I’m actually surrounded by one of each at this very moment.
Traveling can be fun, or at least a bearable part of the journey home. As my calves start to cramp up from sitting in one spot for too long and I realize I still have a three-hour layover ahead of me, I start to get antsy and just crave my own bed. In just seven short hours, I will be reunited with Alaska! And that’s a good enough prospect to keep me trekking through concourse A, terminal K, and gate 37.
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