LXIX. The Playground of Imagination
"Mr. Lang, where will you be flying with us today?"
"Far from local authorities," I laughed.
Her mouth became a line segment, like the Jack in the Box Guy, so I withdrew the joke.
"I'm sorry. Fort Worth," I offered.
Her smile returned. "And will you be checking any bags?"
"No, my wife isn't with me!"
Her face was now completely erased, just a peach-colored smudge framed by frosted hair.
"I'm sorry. Yes, just a trundle full of liquids and some skis."
It was the third time I had flown in two weeks, and I still loved it.
When I was a boy, we were poor and air travel was a rarity. So was parental love and food. But I distinctly remember my first time on an airplane. I may have been 7. I pressed my nose to the glass at the gate and watched the planes take off and thought I must be the luckiest kid in the world. Also, I didn't understand why the planes wings didn't "flap."
Upon check-in, I was given a small plastic airplane – the kind they used to give kids before budget constraints and terrorists made the world suck. I can still recall the feel of it. It was smooth and round like a Tic Tac. On board, I just held it in my little hands, disbelieving that someone actually gave it to me. A shy kid like me certainly wasn't worthy of such treasure. To this day, it is the most magical thing I have ever received. (The second came from a girl named Jennifer in college who had a forked tongue.)
Now I am all grown up, and I feel a little self-conscious because I still find airports and airplanes magical. I still turn my head with the roar of a plane to watch it climb into the sky, imagining the destination and the people who are trying to get there. Are they happy? Are there any hermaphrodites?
Airports are like little cities with restaurants, free CNN and possibilities. You can fly anywhere, anytime. And 11 days ago I was in DCA's D terminal with only one thing missing.
"Mr. Lang, have all your bags been in your possession since you packed them?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Here is your boarding pass. Gate D21. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes. Do you guys have any more of those little plastic airplanes you used to give away last century?"
She hunched her mouth to shoulder and spoke into a transceiver. "Security ..."
"Far from local authorities," I laughed.
Her mouth became a line segment, like the Jack in the Box Guy, so I withdrew the joke.
"I'm sorry. Fort Worth," I offered.
Her smile returned. "And will you be checking any bags?"
"No, my wife isn't with me!"
Her face was now completely erased, just a peach-colored smudge framed by frosted hair.
"I'm sorry. Yes, just a trundle full of liquids and some skis."
It was the third time I had flown in two weeks, and I still loved it.
When I was a boy, we were poor and air travel was a rarity. So was parental love and food. But I distinctly remember my first time on an airplane. I may have been 7. I pressed my nose to the glass at the gate and watched the planes take off and thought I must be the luckiest kid in the world. Also, I didn't understand why the planes wings didn't "flap."
Upon check-in, I was given a small plastic airplane – the kind they used to give kids before budget constraints and terrorists made the world suck. I can still recall the feel of it. It was smooth and round like a Tic Tac. On board, I just held it in my little hands, disbelieving that someone actually gave it to me. A shy kid like me certainly wasn't worthy of such treasure. To this day, it is the most magical thing I have ever received. (The second came from a girl named Jennifer in college who had a forked tongue.)
Now I am all grown up, and I feel a little self-conscious because I still find airports and airplanes magical. I still turn my head with the roar of a plane to watch it climb into the sky, imagining the destination and the people who are trying to get there. Are they happy? Are there any hermaphrodites?
Airports are like little cities with restaurants, free CNN and possibilities. You can fly anywhere, anytime. And 11 days ago I was in DCA's D terminal with only one thing missing.
"Mr. Lang, have all your bags been in your possession since you packed them?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Here is your boarding pass. Gate D21. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes. Do you guys have any more of those little plastic airplanes you used to give away last century?"
She hunched her mouth to shoulder and spoke into a transceiver. "Security ..."
posted by Clubber Lang at 11:06 AM
1 Comments:
Good thing they didn't find your "plastic explosives"!
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