Fly me to the moan and let me sit among the bars
If there's one thing I've always hated, it's arriving early at airports. Now I'm having a rethink
You can never trust any sentence or piece of writing that begins: “There are two kinds of people.” Obviously there are many different kinds of people, especially in airports, but for the sake of familiarity I am going to say that in airports there are two kinds of people: the ones who intended to arrive early, and the ones who intended to arrive just on time.
This is already a slanted sort of statement, which betrays which of the two kinds I am, because for the likes of us, what does “on time” mean? Does it mean arriving three hours before departure for international flights, two hours before domestic flights, as airports request and advise? Please. Those are instructions intended for society’s gentle-hearted herbivores, the slow of foot and thought who bring down the average, the ones who find “Caution: hot coffee” and “Smoking is bad for your health” and “Do not attempt to open this door during flight” to be useful information.
No, I’ve always thought of myself as one of the other kind, the wiseacres and tough guys and urban daredevils who consider every minute spent in the airport before boarding to be a failure of our worldliness – not merely time stolen from our lives but a kind of public badge of shame: I am sitting here on this plastic bucket seat beside the gate with this vacant expression on my face because I don’t know how better to navigate the world. I deserve whatever lack of legroom I’m about to get...