I’m in Blacksburg for a day and a half before heading back to Richmond for the John and Vanessa Nuptial Extravaganza (I’m counting on well stocked liquor supply to tide me over until I’m overcome with utter fascination at the spectacle of two people coming together for tax purposes). Oooh, that was cynical, wasn’t it? I haven’t slept in two days, not counting the light plane dozing I did during the brief moments that I wasn’t being asked if I wanted anything to drink. In one three hour journey I was offered drink choices thrice, which would have thrilled me two years ago, when flying seemed like more of a heroic journey than it does now. Now it’s just a way to spend an entire day on an airplane. More cynicism! I just can’t help it. When life hands you lemons, most people say make lemonade. I say toss ‘em back, via a batting cage pitching machine. Toss in a few random grapefruit, call it Citrus Payback for all the times life’s sat you down in an airport terminal with a three hour layover, wishing you had the foresight to install a WEP decrypter program to access the airport’s wireless internet signal. It’s not life’s fault you don’t think ahead. But it works to blame it all on life, since pretty much anything that happens or doesn’t constitutes life’s jurisdiction.
No, in truth, I still like travelling, though less so now than when I was younger. I have to work harder at having fun. One way that seems to work is to dress up in a nice outfit. Not talking tie here, though that’s classy, especially if you’re not a business person. But a button-up shirt, nice pants, shoes, combed hair. It adds a bounce to your step, and a buoyancy to your spirit that is immediately crushed as soon as one enters the Zone of the Soul Beaters, aka Transit Security. Going through security these days is like getting drunk on cheap vodka. You don’t really remember going through it, you just know you had a really bad headache afterward.
The nice thing about air travel is the plane dimensions continue to expand almost exponentially. On my connecting flight from Salt Lake City to Atlanta, we didn’t board a plane: we mounted a luxury cruise liner with wings. I think there was a fountain made of gold in the back, near the flight attendants’ station, and there was a guy in the lavatory to hand you mints as you left. It was glorious. Oddly enough, they forgot to serve a meal on this particular cruise liner, but I suspect that it wasn’t because they lacked the meal. I just think the plane was too big for the wait staff to completely cover by the time the flight had completed. In fact, if it wasn’t for the 3X liquid refreshment inquiries, I would have guessed they forgot how to even find us. But go Delta for having the guts to stick a 4 billion ton piece of welded metal up in the sky to see if she floats. She does, moderately, and it only uses a sixteenth of the world’s oil supply to power it.
I met a nice girl in Atlanta who was a life insurance case manager, in town for some new software training. We discussed her frozen yogurt and the computerized, futuristic trashcan that whirred gratefully every time someone inserted their garbage into its open mouth receptacle. I could almost imagine it wiggling in ecstacy from the pleasurable act of receiving my air travel detritus. She was still in school, for psychology, but she didn’t really know what she wanted to do. I felt better about being unemployed (moderately) but having a clear defined life path. I told her that it would come in time, and in the meantime, she should try and enjoy her job as much as possible. I don’t know if that was very sage, but it seemed sensible. We shook hands and agreed with each other that it was pleasant to talk. Then she left to hang out with her friend. It was the kind of encounter that you wish could last longer, if for nothing else than the simple human connection, the act of talking with a total stranger rather than passing through, as I most often do whenever I’m at the airport. I enjoyed it, which probably says more about me than this post implies, but it was a simple pleasure that I wish had been longer. But that’s life for you. Sometimes, among the lemons, you get a milkshake. You don’t throw those back, but tip your hat at the kind gesture, savour a few spoonfuls, and then get your bat ready to knock those inevitable lemons out of the park.