I love airports. Not in the Love Actually, it’s heartwarming to see people who miss people and who have been missed kind of way. And I’m not talking about thriving on the anticipation of going somewhere new and exciting. I love airports in the same way I love planes. An airport is a place I can sit with a coffee and a book, and where I usually do not have the ability to wikipedia every fifth word in the book. I love airports, but until recently, it has been my world-wide experience that people working in airports, in any capacity, hate their lives. Not in Idaho.
Spokane airport, Washington State (close to the Idaho boarder) 7am
Id checker/Boarding Pass Scribbler: How you folks doing? Oh Crampes, I’ve never heard that, is it French?... Well, you’re certainly not going to need that arctic jacket in Sedona, lucky duck…Joan and Michael, how is Tim doing now? He’s selling cars, AND just had his second little one. Wonderful, wonderful!... Caitlin, that’s usually with a K, right?”
Me: “Sometimes.” Now, it is 7am and I’m about to enter the airport security line. Even if I was staying at the airport hotel, which is unlikely, think about what time I must have woken up at. Also, I’m trying to get through airport security and board a plane on time!
Id checker/Boarding Pass Scribbler: “Ah, sometimes” with a lack of earnestness that tells me he thinks I’m a cold-hearted East Coaster.
Logan Airport, Boston Ma at a comparable early morning time
Me: Hi, how are ya?
Id checker/Boarding Pass Scribbler: Possible grunt. Eye contact lasts .2 seconds when he looks at my license and then me, which I’m pretty sure is part of his job required by law.
Spokane airport, Washington State (close to the Idaho boarder) 7:30am
As the TSA Official in the security line takes the third bag in a row back through the scanner, “Folks, liquids need to be separated from your carry on.” He shakes his head with a smile that says, ah you knuckleheads
Logan Airport, Boston Ma about 2 minutes later than the comparable early morning time you previously envisioned
TSA Official in security line shouts with the condescending cadence used by old Catholic nuns to teach children multiplication tables, “People, liquids must be separated from your carry on. You are holding everyone up. There is clear signage. Read it. There are pictures on the signage if you can not read. Separate your liquids. That includes water bottles. That includes breakfast yogurt. That includes lotions. And perfumes. Take off your belts. Take off your shoes. This is not difficult, people.” She shakes her head with a look of disgust that says, you are all idiots.
Other people who were nice to me in Idaho who would not be nice to me in Boston:
-The cop who pulled me over for speeding, and before I could even play the my dad is a cop in Massachusetts card, wished me a safe drive to the airport and hoped I enjoyed Moscow. I was going 60 on the highway, which may get your pulled over in Massachusetts for blocking traffic.
-The car rental guy when I somehow locked my bags in the correct number car for the incorrect car rental company-Dollar not Budget! He chatted about watching out for deer as I dragged him outside in the snow to unlock it.
I can kiss you on one check in Ecuador as I leave a group, even if I only met you for 2 minutes. And if I’m in France I will kiss you on both cheeks. I am well traveled. I am culturally sensitive. Feeling uncomfortable in a new place, observing, and possibly adapting to new social niceties is something that is exciting to me.
However, this veer of social norms in a place I did not present a passport to enter, didn’t seem like a fun game anymore. In my own country, where we share a common language and history, I felt a bit hurt and self-conscious, like these people in their infinite cheerfulness had to be mocking my bitter East Coast ways. Were they?
