Yours till hell

The airport was one of the best places to people watch.

There were families with cranky kids and moody teenagers, overexcited travelers, anxious flyers trying to calm their nerves before boarding, and those who were clearly hungover as they sat hunched over in sweats while nursing both a coffee and water.

Then there were people like me who were traveling alone and simply going through the motions.

Having flown out to San Francisco to be with my family for the holidays—which had been exactly the break I needed after not being back on the west coast for almost two years—I’d arrived at the airport a few hours before my flight home to give myself time to get through security, grab some food, and relax at my gate. Something I was now regretting, as my flight back to Boston had been delayed. It was going on the fifth hour I’d been sitting in an uncomfortable chair and I’d already run through the episodes I’d downloaded of Netflix’s latest hit.

Hence the people watching.

With my headphones in—void of any music in an attempt to salvage what was left of my phone battery—and a lukewarm coffee in my hands, I let my attention wander.

I could hear the man who sat behind me having much too loud of a conversation on the phone, with someone I assumed to be a colleague, about his newest business venture. Words like investment, capital, and shareholders had me tuning out while also making me proud on some level this stranger was working so hard to get an idea off the ground.

Then there was the woman sitting beside me who, despite having to be at least double my age, didn’t try to hide the fact that she was sexting someone named Jimmy. Something I wish I’d never had to see as I quickly averted my gaze from the extra large font on her screen.

Except doing so had me momentarily eyeing a couple at the end of the aisle, likely a few years younger than me, who were sharing a seat and making out like they were in the privacy of a bedroom and not surrounded by strangers.

But, I mean, if that made the time pass faster, all the power to them.

Feeling the awkwardness of watching another couple get it on wash over me, coupled on top of the slight prick of envy in my chest, I turned my head and tuned in to the conversation between the parents two rows ahead of me and their young children.

« But why do we have to wait so long ? » the older of the two kids asked, looking to be around eight years old as he sat on the carpeted floor.

« Yeah, it’s sunny outside. Why are they saying there’s a storm ? » the younger one pressed.

Which, to be fair, were valid questions for kids their age. Before either of their parents could answer, however, a voice crackled on the overhead speaker.

« Attention passengers aboard Flight 534 to Boston. » A hush settled over the waiting area as everyone listened to the announcement, hoping we were finally able to board. « The flight’s departure time has been pushed back to 7 :00pm. Boarding will take place thirty minutes before, so please have your ticket ready at that time. Thank you. »

A collective groan filled the area. This was the third delay announcement in two hours, all because of a freak snowstorm sweeping over the middle of the country. And while I understood the safety precautions the airline had to take, I almost wished they’d just cancel the flight and put me, as well as everyone else, out of our misery.

Trying to look on the bright side though, the extra delay gave me the push I needed to abandon my seat and track down some semblance of a dinner, knowing I wouldn’t be eating on the flight any time soon. My stomach grumbled for what felt like the hundredth time as I stood, grabbed my carry-on, and subtly nodded to a woman who had been leaning against the wall for the last hour that she could take my seat before heading towards the dining hall.

Thirty minutes later, after I’d demolished a cheeseburger and fries, I had my gaze locked on my phone as I swiveled around on the bar stool to hop down, only to stumble into another person who’d been walking past.

A person who was clearly male and definitely in shape if the strong chest muscles beneath my palms were anything to go by.

« Shit, sorry. My bad, » I said, righting myself as the stranger’s hands fell from around my waist.

Looking up at him with a red hue of embarrassment coating my cheeks, I immediately noticed the way his lips twisted upward and laughter filled his dark brown eyes. « Don’t worry about it, » he replied.

Knowing there was nothing else for me to say without rambling and making a complete fool of myself, I stayed silent and dropped my gaze, not at all surprised when he sidestepped me and blended into the throngs of people making their way toward the gates.

I shook my head, muttering a few choice words under my breath as I started back that way as well, realizing I had to come to terms with the fact today was simply not my day.

« Welcome passengers on Flight 534, we apologize for the delays today, but the cabin crew has just informed me that we look to be ready to start boarding. » Finally. The voice of the employee at our gate coming onto the overhead speakers promptly perked everyone in the immediate area up. « We’ll start off with anyone boarding in Zone 1, as well as those who require extra assistance or families with young children. Once again, that’s only passengers in Zone 1, those who require extra assistance, and families traveling with young children. We’ll call the rest of you up shortly, so please sit tight and await further instructions. »

But given that nearly everyone was past the point of being fed up, all simply ready to board and get in the air, nobody listened. I, however, stayed where I was—sitting atop my suitcase while leaning against the wall across from the gate. Watching as people began to crowd the check-in desk—pushing and shoving—creating complete and utter madness for the employees attempting to keep things as orderly as possible.

Eventually, when the final boarding call was made and only a few people were left mulling around the check-in desk, I got up and joined the short line. Passport and ticket ready, I handed them off to be scanned before making my way down the rickety bridge leading to the plane.

It was a smaller plane, with only two seats on either side of the aisle, and as I passed all those already seated, I couldn’t help but notice half of them anxiously wiggling around in their seats, impatient and waiting for the doors to close. When I reached the middle of the plane, I glanced down at my ticket, double checking my seat number.

27D.

When I spotted the number twenty-seven underneath a half-full overhead compartment, I rolled my luggage to stop, drawing the attention of the man sitting in the aisle seat.