First Class on the Ground

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Airport.

When I hear this term, a slot machine of associated words click into my subconscious. Words like tile, uniform, and echo. As I step from the car and enter the human processor (aka. terminal), I leave behind a kind friend and an hour and a half of refreshing, delightful conversation--you know the type; afterward, you feel like a better, smarter, happier human being. Just the simple, honest interaction that reminds you of the depth inside people, the joy of openness, and God's original version of "hanging out" intended for His family. It's...refreshing. Like the crunch of watermelon.



The terminal feels unexpectedly happy today--or maybe the residue of my pleasant ride here is still affecting my view of life and people. At the self check-in kiosk, I pick the seats I want, check in a bag (praying it weighs less than 50 pounds), and wait for my tickets. Instead, I receive a couple food vouchers and a receipt. Not bad for airport luck, but something inside me (possibly the fact I don't believe in luck) sends its unwelcome opinion (unwelcome because I know it's right).

"Food vouchers = trouble."

Three attendants, two more vouchers, and one shuttle bus later, I find myself at the Hilton hotel. My flight is delayed until 6:10 tomorrow morning so the airport puts me up for the night with $26 of airport money to feed me. I don't mind one bit. Maybe I'm just in a particularly flexible mood or the idea of a comfy bed sounds more appealing than 6 hours of traveling, but events like this--the ones out of your control that surprise you like a bald eagle in your city backyard--are adventures. Everything I experience from this moment onward is something I would have missed if everything were in my control. I will cherish every minute.

The evening pans out like first-class on the ground. My flight is rescheduled, I take a nice shuttle to my hotel (the driver loads my bags for me), I arrive at the Hilton, and receive the room of my request (floor 2 or above...I'm not picky). The Hilton is beautiful. I enter to Christmas trees bedecked with both ornaments and dangling gifts that match the interior sweeps of carpet. Fairy-lights line the walls of the restaurant and the hotel lighting is butterscotch yellow--the type that makes you feel warm and relaxed.

I inevitably snatch my camera from my suitcase and snap away, imagining how lovely these pictures will match this post. Mid-snap (a Christmas tree at the end of a long hall of chandeliers), my lounging memory leaps to its feet and informs me it encountered a moment of extra-faultiness today. It forgot my camera cord. The pride I formerly held at remembering to grab the charger, the extra batteries, the case, and even the camera itself fades into nonexistence. I won't have the cord again until mid-January.

*shrug* Such is life.

I treat myself to a delicious Hilton dinner, starting with a Caesar salad. The first bite tastes...Caribbean-classy. It's a bit of pina-colada memories, the crunch of field-fresh greens, and soft-beach music drifting on my salty nostalgia-senses. Homemade croutons and thin dressing.
Delicious.
As I move on to the "main course" (Diablo chicken--it tastes very Italian), an older gentleman in a suit with a navy pin on his lapel enters and requests, "A glass of Cabernet." Behind him stand two handle-bar mustache hicks. I wonder if they're on my flight tomorrow. They look like Wyoming people. They order two beers. I don't see them on my flight the next morning. They must be flying to Idaho.

I have a three-hour layover in Salt Lake, but I can't hold it against Delta. They treated me like the only customer using their airline yesterday. Though their baggage prices may be inflated and infuriating, I gladly say this:

"Delta, you done good."

I still have some food vouchers left over and get some kung-pao chicken for breakfast (no chicken, but lots of pao). Coffee is next on the list. I say this with no intention of actually buying or drinking coffee. "Coffee" for me is like "Coke" for people who live in the south.

"I'd like a Coke."
"What type?"
"Sprite, please."

With me, "coffee" just means I'm going to Starbucks and I'll probably get a chai latte. But, until I finish my kung-pao, I return to the excitement of a 3-hour-layover spent thinking of the many joys that have and will arrive with this year's Christmas season. I think God's favorite seasonal decoration is "joy"--He pulls garlands off the Earth's summer and fall decorations, adds a bit of winter flavor, and twirls them around the December calendar of my heart. The best part is, they never come down.

I've always loved garlands.