Oh Airports...

Airport Ready

I hesitate to say it, but just to keep a completely accurate recording of my journey, I’ll confess: I may have had a moment of weakness at the airport tonight—sitting curbside in the passenger seat, clutching the door handle, unwilling to step out, whispering, “I don’t wanna go.” It was as if the complete reality of my situation—of the next two days spent in transit; of arriving in a foreign country at night and trying to find a stranger via underground so I can sleep on his couch; of having no plans or places to stay (to-do list failure); and of navigating my way around a completely new country when I still need directions driving around Salem suddenly hit me. Definite reality check.

Seven hours and one flight later, though, I’m feeling good. Still slightly unsure about what’s going on here, but more than not, I’m back to being excited for the unknown.

Current status: sitting in Charlotte, waiting for my connecting flight to New York, hungry and tired. I sat next to a man on the plane who’d been to London and lived in Northern Ireland for some time. He gave me a few tips and told me I’d be in good hands among the people there. We grabbed some coffee before splitting for our separate gates, and I didn’t even get his name.

Thing number one: I keep this don’t-bother-me face on when I travel in airports, which apparently, combined with 3 am, makes me look “too serious.” A man stopped me at my gate and made sure I was aware of this. I’m too nice to brush people off when they’re persistent (a problem sometimes), so I talked to this guy for a while and listened to his moving plans and his “really nice condo on the side in Seattle.” I pretended to be impressed. He asked me about my travels and inquired about my ring, “So, what’s that ring symbolize?” Thing number two: I travel with a ring on my left hand. I told him I was engaged, with a story prepared if he asked. The last time someone went past that, I had nothing to say. He didn’t, though. Just told me to tell my lucky made-up fiancé to hold on to me because I’m a “talented, nice, beautiful girl.” And although I’m flattered at his presumption of my apparent talents, I declined his invite to breakfast and made my way to the little corner I’m currently crouched in.

Now, sitting nearby me, after he made a rather public, what would seem to be break-up over the phone, saying, “I just don’t want to be in this relationship anymore. We’re not right together, and I want to see other people,” I’m sorely crossing my fingers we’re not seated together. Such would be my luck. I’m doing a supreme job, however, looking immensely interested and involved in my computer right now—perhaps one of my talents he spoke of.

Current status: in want of breakfast. Current dilemma: I said no to breakfast to the man sitting eight feet away from me. I think my stomach will win out on this one and I’ll go eat despite his possible bruised feelings and realization of rejection. Or worse, he could follow along, as he seems to be the type who can’t take a hint, even one in the form of a supposed engagement ring. Bah, breakfast always wins…

We’ll see how this goes.

Update: 5:47am
Current Status: hunger abated and dilemma averted thanks to protein bar I packed in my carry-on. Thank you, Mom.
Also, this man told me his name but I don’t remember. So, Man With Seattle Condo ended up being on an earlier flight than me, and shortly before he boarded came over to ask for my number and email. I flashed him my left hand (if I keep this up I may start believing I’m engaged myself) and he assured me we could keep in touch as friends and I could think of him as my brother. He gave me his email and four times told me not to forget to write him. I might forget.