Life is Now One Big Airport Flight Delay

We’re bored, restless and not going anywhere any time soon.

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Photo by Erik Odiin via Unsplash

Now is not the time to be overly dramatic. I might be alone in that idea but I’m holding to it. It is a time, however, to be mildly aggravated. Life has not been canceled. We’re just in a holding pattern.

Without fail, flight delays find me. In January, it took me 12 hours to get home from Key West to Phoenix with the worst part being stuck in the Miami airport for six hours during the Superbowl, which coincidentally took place in Miami. This is an experience I do not care to repeat.

Life right now is just a big airport with a massive flight delay. We all want to go somewhere but it’s not going to happen any time soon.

There is a weird phenomenon that happens the minute you enter an airport. It becomes perfectly acceptable to drink any adult beverage regardless of what time it is. No one is going to bat an eye at you for having a shot of tequila with a beer back at 7:45 in the morning. It’s cool. Cheers, friend.

Last week sometime, I thought to myself that a glass of wine sounded fantastic. I’d like to tell you what day it was but, really, who even knows anymore? It could have been Tuesday. Let’s call it Tuesday.

As I passed by my kitchen on the way to the wine fridge, I glanced at the clock. It was shortly after 10am. 10am, for God’s sake. The only thing I was missing was a non-judgmental cocktail servant.

You’ve all seen that one lady. I know you have. She’s laying across three seats in the terminal without a damn care in the world that everyone else has to sit on the ground.

This lady, I’m sure, has bought all the toilet paper and paper towels. She’s hogged everything. There is nothing left for the rest of us. She makes you a little shouty and stabby.

There is nothing worse than passing time in an airport and touching something you can’t identify. Maybe it’s gum. Maybe it’s a piece of someone’s leftover lunch. You don’t know. You don’t want to know. I feel the same way every time I go into public.

Touching a shopping cart invokes memories of those terrifying STD warnings that reminded you that when you have unprotected sex you’re having sex with every other people your partner has ever had sex with. Ewww. Shopping carts are no different now.

Trust nothing. Trust no one. Use protection.

The last time I was at an airport, I paid $13 for a quesadilla. A large tortilla stuffed with cheese. We’re talking two dollars worth of ingredients and two whole minutes of someone’s time. I know all of these figures because I am a mom. All lazy moms know the exact cost science of the quesadilla.

Everything that you once thought was cheap is expensive as hell. I have no idea why people have suddenly taken an overwhelming interest in the consumption of eggs. After three days of them, no one likes them anymore. That’s a fact. And yet, every time I go to the grocery store it’s like chickens have become extinct or have gone on strike.

If you want eggs, you’re going to have to buy a chicken or the super bougie, fancy organic eggs for six bucks a dozen. At six bucks a dozen, those things better be made of gold.

There’s a silver lining, eventually, we’re going to be able to get on a damn plane. We will be free to move about the cabin. In the meantime, we can keep making questionable decisions about alcohol and stare at TVs because we have nothing else to do. One thing that will not change? The lady hogging three seats will still be an asshole.

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Flaming pinball, nerd, music lover, wine snob, horrible violin player. No, I won’t stop taking pictures of my drinks. vanessaltorre@gmail.com IG: vanessaltorre

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