I think airports are cool and fun. Like “wow hey let me zip through here with my suitcase and trot along this walking path like I’m a Kardashian… no photos, please.”
There’s are some pretty dope characters you come across, too. There was a family from Zimbabwe headed to visit family in Atlanta. A dude was taking a video for his Snapchat fans like, “Yo. At the airport. Bout to head to Atlanta. Also used a new gel on my hair today, dunno if I’m feeling it. Aight peeeeeeace.” (I was actually ~living~ for this guy.)
Anyway. I’m strutting my stuff, walking along, and BAM. I run into the slowest walkers of my life and I want to saw off my toes, one by one. I am physically and mentally pained from the slowness.
I speed up my pace and zoom past them. I accidentally sneezed in their direction and dust particles swirled in the air. THAT’S BECAUSE THEY WERE OLDER THAN DUST.
Reason number one why old people are the worst at airports.
Reason number two is the QUESTIONS. Asking all these questions like, “Is there wifi on the plane? Are you flying to Atlanta too? Do you know where the restroom is? Can you help me with my phone? Does your face always look like that?” NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. NO.
My youthful glow, and the fact that my phone is glued to my hand must have given off the impression that I work here. Assuming that I must answer any and all questions they have at once.
Passing up the slow pokes was just the beginning. I find my gate and get settled into a little desk thingy that was pretty much the only thing not taken. I’m just minding my P’s and Q’s when I hear a baby wailing in the distance. The screams get closer as my patience wears thinner.
The baby arrives and, lucky for me, their parents sit directly behind me. I can feel the baby’s eyes on my head and I can feel their feet just wanting to stomp on my face.
I’m almost frightened by this baby and move to a seat that just opened up across the way. The baby senses my fear and follows me. It begins to run in circles around my personal bubble while the parents chow down on some Doritos. The oldest baby who must be at least twelve sprawls out on the floor to watch a movie on his iPad. Probably Minions.
This whole situation frightens me as my knowledge of what to do seems to disappear. Thankfully, my zone is called and I get up on outta there and hop on the plane to my safety.
Low and behold, the baby and its family are the lucky ones who get to surround me as the plane descends into what I assume is hell.
I guess old people are alright. I should have never sneezed. They could be right here with me, asking me questions about that odd hair in their nose and I would have gladly answered.
I revoke my statement. Old people aren’t the worst. Babies remain the worst. Goodbye.