tim!: Airport fun 2001 Sitting at the airport judging. I sit and I watch and I judge. Maybe more like an observative judge, and not making any conclusions. I just bought a pen at the Nashville International Airport. It costs five dollars to buy a pen like the one I now possess. The pen reminds you of a disco-ball. It is shaped in the classic pen shape with sparkles all over it. On the cap it says Nashville, below what I imagine to be the skyline of Nashville. Five dollars and now I discover that the tip is leaking ink.
Some people I have seen here during my time at BNA:
1. Asian man eating a taco with his mouth open.
2. Female Vanderbilt students who are way too cute for their own good. They all have on either flip-flops or some other shoe showing off their well-maintained feet. The kind of feet that get to see lotion on a daily basis. Feet that are loved.
3. A seven year old kid who has a new airplane toy that is battery operated and mimics the sound of a jet plane rearing for takeoff. A sound you'd rather not hear unless you are on a plane. He is mock flying this toy airplane all around the waiting area, adding his own sound effects. Vroom, vroom. The plane lets out its programmed noise every two minutes. I imagine approaching the boy and asking, Could I see the plane? Could I play with it for a minute? That's a cool plane I'd say. I'd use all my lines, pull out all the stops. You wanna see something cool? He does. He silently hands me the plane. He wants to please me. At this point in my imagination there is a split.
Part 1 is that I announce: See how it flies! as I whip the toy airplane across the room and it smashes the way a toy airplane should when whipped across a room into a wall. The seven year old runs to the wall opposite almost tripping over himself to get there and falls down next to the pile of metal pieces that only moments ago constituted major structural components of his toy airplane.
Part 2 is that he hands me the plane and I immediately attempt to crush it in my able man hands, but to no avail. This goes on for several minutes in the movie version, allowing the movie goer enough time to figure it out before being led onward. As this plane is 100% all-metal construction, my able man hands cannot make a mark. The able man hands are now getting torn up from the effort of trying to bend steel. Superman thinks he could do this, but he would be wrong. The seven year old silently watches this with absolutely zero emotion on his face. Like he knows this is what would happen, because it's what happened last time a tough guy with able man hands tried this stunt. Later he will smile at this thought.
By the way, the author is severely hung over on this day. I decide it'd be a good idea to go to the bathroom again. As I am hung over, this is very satisfying. It is my third trip to the same stall. I use the stall which is equipped with rails, and is larger to accommodate maybe a wheelchair or a walker. I am prepared to depart in a moment's notice if someone actually needs this space, and isn't just enjoying the Cadillac of stalls, when they should really be driving a used Honda. But as this does not happen, I enjoy my space. I revel in it, and look forward to my next visit.
You see the same people at the airport that you see at the amusement park or at the mall. Everyone is here. All types are well represented. People at the airport act a lot like people on the subway act. There's just more room to walk around, and expensive things to buy. I am the guy in the corner scribbling down notes as I scan the room for fresh meat.
People all have on their waiting face. A few people talk, giving the rest of us something to do. Most of us take turns staring at one another or the wall. There is a definite amount of time that is allotted for staring at strangers before it becomes too long, and then rudeness settles in. I would say the maximum time you can check someone out is 5 seconds before they realize this and start to stare back. A passing glance is 2-3 seconds. And if someone isn't paying attention you can really check them out for a long time. This is very helpful if you are sitting waiting for a plane and have nothing better to do, and also find yourself utterly fascinated by their body language, or plagued by the question: Are those breasts real or are they fake?
This one woman that was sitting near me had on a very nice outfit which allowed her real/fake breasts a lot of airtime. Go ahead call me a misogynist. Let's get that out of the way. I'm not trying to say anything about her character at all here, or about her desires for whatever by wearing this top. What I am saying is that her real/fake breasts were very prominently featured, and I was happy to spend several individual and separate 5 second intervals checking them out. Obviously one would wear a loose fitting sweater or other top if one did not want these real/fake breasts to be so dually featured. And furthermore, one would not likely get saline-filled bags stuffed into a 34B to make them a 36C if one didn't want lecherous dogs like myself to be checking them out in airport lounges. I would like to think that they were real. We all do. As men, as boys, we all want to believe that these may be real. But honestly the real/fake issue is not an issue. Once you see them, you lose your mind anyway, and the point is pretty much moot.
I'm going to lose my membership in The Club I'm sure, but any straight guy who says he doesn't like a woman's breasts to the point of total distraction, real or fake, is either not straight and doesn't know it yet, or is just plain lying. It's the same as the size thing for women. They say it doesn't matter to make you feel better. It does matter. Of course it matters. This is made worse by the realization as to why they are telling you this, since you asked.
I do not believe there is any sound more nerve shattering than the sound of a 2 year old crying. Babies-ok. But the 2 year old makes me see red. They have learned to whine by now, and the whine-cry will bring you down. I am robbing a bank. Enter a crying 2 year old. I quit. Take me away.
With the exception of the airplane noise and the crying, the airport is quite a nice place to be and be hung over. Find your spot, get a coke, lie down if they have lie-down seating and wait for the 2 year old to lose her shit. If no 2 year olds are nearby, you are in the clear.
I just saw a guy get off a plane. He is about 70 and 5'5" tall. He is wearing a very nice older style suit, buttoned, double-breasted with a large blue tie. He may be of Greek descent. He has a very obvious gray hairpiece on his gray head. The best part of this whole deal is the shoes. They are white cross-trainer sneakers. I love this. This makes me very happy.
On the return wait, I spot a red-haired kid who is in line in front of me with his caring parents. He is eating a candy device that has a red hard candy piece which is used to dip into a container of candy powder that is also red. So here is this kid with red hair, red lips, red tongue and now he puts the red candy in his red mouth and his teeth are glossed in a red candy paste. He bites down on the red hard candy piece with his tender little teeth and the first thing that comes to mind is the level of decay his little teeth must be experiencing right now, as they are being bathed in this High-Fructose Corn Syrup rich saliva.
When he speaks, he seems to be some kind of child genius. A brilliant mind trapped in the body of an eight year old. He is forced to eat this candy to keep up the appearances of a normal child, and not the boy wonder that he is. He denies his older sister with the normal brain his candy treat. He does this because he is expected to do this. Imagine the prolonged dentist visits he must endure for this ruse. A mouth full of metal and ceramic. His caring mother only feet away wincing at the five inch long needle plunging into first his gum, and then deep into the fleshy jaw, feeling like it will reach his yet undescended testicles soon if the Dentist doesn't stop elongating his hairy arm.
Checking out the word testicle on the MS Thesaurus for synonyms gives me none. What it does provide is an alphabetical list beginning with terrorization, followed by all other forms of this word.
