JIA is a humble airport, with a spattering of terminals, resting serenely, almost with an air of nonchalance, as a nearly insignificant blip on an otherwise uneventful swath of land inside the rim of Jacksonville's northern extremity. I suppose what I'm trying to convey here, is that Jacksonville has a wishful airport, big boy pants for a waist that's just too small...it's trying, though, and one day, maybe soon, the waistline will fit the pants.
With ticket in hand and bags checked, I confidently made my way toward my designated terminal. I wouldn't, by any remote stretch of the imagination, call myself a frequent flyer, but over the last four or five years, I've flown to Atlanta twice, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Richmond, Virginia. While I I'm not a Lord of the Rings level traveler, I would at least consider myself comfortable with and accustomed to the act of flying--in a plane, in case you thought I had acquired the next level of human evolution or come up with an aviatory solution not otherwise already considered. Because of my past experiences with this sort of thing, I elected to bring a Tom Robbins novel with me in an attempt to quell the boredom of the inevitable wait. I already knew that waiting in a security checkpoint line, on the plane before takeoff and after landing, and then on the tram to the hotel, was imminent. Plus, the book is wildly entertaining.
Everything was textbook as I boarded the plane; everything was standard airport monotony. I can find entertainment almost anywhere and people-watching at an airport could be the Super Bowl of a lifetime of people-watching training. There's much to digest, if observing people is your bag.
A little off-topic, and as a simple example (I like supporting evidence), I hadn't been inside of JIA for ten minutes before I witnessed the first of many soon to come novelties a simple airport has to offer. I was standing on an escalator, heading down. The escalator to my left was on the upward rotation, creating a technological letter "X" in the form of metal steps. I mind my own business for the most part, I don't seek out strangers to talk to, don't give them a reason to talk to me. In fact, in public places, where there is an abundance of people, my goal is to be invisible. I slither through the crowd, not making eye contact, not making a scene in any sense of anything. I'm not sure if my ninja skills were honed just so precisely on this occasion, or if the woman on the up escalator just didn't care that I was there, because she suddenly turned to two men about twenty feet back on the escalator behind her and asked loudly, affronted, if they were talking about her, and that she could hear everything they had said. I, as previously stated, was on the opposite escalator, moving in the opposite direction and so was not privy what the two men had said. One of them looked at her square in the eyes and told her, yes, they were talking about her. Then she released the Kracken on them and began to unleash some words in the English language that I had only heard tales about.
The voice trailed off the deeper I rode the escalator down, as my thoughts moved from how homeland security could possibly have executed her right then and there for causing such a stir in the airport. They would have been within the limits of proportionate reactions because the woman had lost a grip on her sanity and quite literally had become a threat. I never got to hear the end of that argument, but it would end up being just a simple skirmish in the war of my day.
So, my thoughts moved back to finding my terminal, which I did, and fast forwarding, I ended up on an aisle seat, sitting there, invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around me, Tom Robbins book in hand. The book had been a gift, and I had just started reading it after I had situated myself in my seat. I was on page one.
The seats were five across, with an aisle in the middle. I was on the two seat side, close to the aisle. I only describe this arrangement to facilitate the understanding that the window seat was currently open, the plane not fully boarded, but really it illustrates that when my aisle-mate would arrive, we'd be in intimate quarters, just the two of us with no third wheel buffer. A third wheel buffer always keeps the invisibility cloak in tact. Head down in a book keeps it in tact too, mostly, because most people just don't feel comfortable interrupting a person reading. My aisle-mate arrived and I stood up to let him get to his window seat. A break in my reading, and a break in keeping my head down not to have to converse with anyone occurred because of this movement. Obviously, I had not properly planned this out.
We were forced to exchange cordialities. He was in his mid to late fifties, a little overweight, gray hair, but still held on to a youthful vigor only discovered after he began talking.
"What are you reading there?" Dammit. Here we go.
"Oh," I muster a deceptively fake air of outgoing charm. "It's a book by Tom Robbins."
"Not very far into it, are ya?" Dick.
I rally. "I just got it. Brought it to read on the flight." There. Short, to the point. Stated my intentions. Leave me alone. He gets it. And he really did seem to. I continue reading.
The plane begins to take off in the late afternoon, early evening. The sunlight is waning, but there's still enough that I can comfortable see the words on the pages. The airline had taken measures to ensure a convenient experience. I like to believe that the meeting went like this:
"Look, we can give them more leg space, bigger seats for comfort, or we can give them overhead lighting. We can't give them both. Cut backs causing strategic use of our funds dictates this. We have some tough decisions to make, boys." He probably slammed his fist down on the table for emphasis. The members sitting at the boardroom table probably jumped a little at the unexpected punctuation.
"Lights." They all agreed. Except Smith, who always went against the grain.
"Fuck you, Smith, it's gonna be lights."
So there I am, legs curled up to my chin, thinking about how Smith needs to grow some balls and stand up for his convictions. I reach up to turn on my overhead book light, since my side of the plane is angled away from the sun. I push the button....and nothing happens. Wow. I lose. I accept it quickly, and go back to reading in the dying light. There's still enough to easily make out the words on the page.
"Ya have to hold the button in for a few seconds to turn it on." My best friend next to me suddenly exclaims. Apparently, my dilemma has not gone unnoticed. I graciously say thank you and hold the button in. I hold it in a little longer than what I deem necessary, but it's just so my helpful buddy sees and knows that I gave it a shot according to his directions. No light.
"The flight is only 53 minutes. How long are ya gonna hold it in?" Holy shit man. This guy just directed me to hold the button in and now he's ridiculing me for doing as instructed. This guy! I don't respond directly.
"Oh well." I say. "No big deal." Still using as little words as possible, no longer so I don't have to interact anymore, but because I've already decided that I don't like him.
He turns his light on and directs it toward me. "Thanks," I manage. Maybe he's okay after all. I would never find out. The plane touches down in Atlanta and I'm off the hook with him. "Good luck in your travels," I tell him, and he, none the wiser that homeland security could very well have wrestled me to the ground if they had but known my thoughts as I exited the plane.
There's more to the story, but my time to write is winding down. Perhaps soon I'll revisit it and explain the rest. Maybe, when its rainy outside, or the kids are at school and I'm alone in the house and with no idea what to write about, I'll create the second part. Enjoy!
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