Stuck in the Airport With You

Over the past three days, Logan International Airport has really sort of become like home to me. That feeling is an involuntary thing, I guess, that comes from spending every waking hour aimlessly wandering around like some bad Tom Hanks movie.

So I guess it is home, in a way. And all these stranded travelers are like my family. They would make the Addams family proud. What unites us is a common bond, borne out of our collective hatred for our enemy, the airlines.

And there's crazy aunt Sue, yelling for no reason. She's throwing a tantrum even though it's going to get her nowhere. Then there's sullen cousin Moe, who has rediscovered adolescence and snarls and complains and mutters vague threats under his breath. And there's the rest of us, trying grimly to make the best out of this situation, just waiting it out and hoping that that next glass of wine will be the one glass that finally puts the increasingly drunk and increasingly racist Uncle Larry down for the count.

And, of course, baby Ike. Baby Ike is my favorite member of my new airport family. He's been screaming and yelling gleefully for hours now, running around like the energizer bunny on speed. He's literally running into walls, celebrating each incipient concussion with a scream of victory. And his parents sit there and smile, deep in the funk that only Prozac at its maximum legal dosage can provide.

So why even consider Baby Ike a member of my family? Why make him my new baby brother? Simple. If he's a brother, I can hit him and tell him to please for the love of god and all that's merciful just be the bleep quiet. If he's not a member of the family, what I'm planning to do to him is probably a felony. Seeing as I'm on strike two and counting, this would be a poor decision.

But I really want to just punt him. How far do you think he would go? Twenty feet? Fifty? What if I get a good running start? Maybe he can clear that group of seats. Hundred feet? In any case, he'll be going farther than any of the rest of us, from the way this is going.

So, yes, the Northeast is still snarled and millions remain stranded. This from the NYT today:

When I stepped off the plane from Miami into the Charlotte, N.C., airport for a connecting flight home, I immediately knew something was wrong. Hordes of desperate people crowded the terminal. I quickly learned that flights headed to the Northeast were canceled because of a storm. The earliest they could get us out of Charlotte was Tuesday. It was Friday. A gate agent stood on the counter and shouted: “Don’t ask us for help! We cannot help you!”

That woman, by the way, is a stewardess. And I love the image of the gate agent standing on top of a desk being overrun by traveling zombies. Only they don't want brains, they just want any plane going south.