May, for me, was all about getting on planes. I’m getting on another two flights this week, for work (God help me). In the stack rank of most carbon emissions from air travel it’s Taylor Swift then me at #2, sorry. Last week I went from IAD to SFO to YVR to YYC to ATL to IAD, though the airport codes flatten the story into something more mysterious by some measures and simpler by others.
I have always found flight to be spectacular and miraculous in concept and relaxing and singular in experience. Is there anything sweeter than a moment where everyone on a plane, no matter how old or jaded, is craning their necks to look outside the tiny window at the marvelous view of the Earth? How rare, to be able to see things from above. And when the world below you is shouded in white, you can just chill. Drink a ginger ale and watch Argo or Sonic 2 on a little screen.
To get on a plane, though, you must first go to an airport. This is the cruellest step in the whole endeavor. At the airport, you are doing everything except flying: waiting, standing, sitting, arguing, running, rushing, searching, fretting. Getting yelled at and cursed at and coughed on. In contrast to the miracles of the plane, the airport is gritty, gruesome. Quite literally grounded. Half full of hope for the coming and half full of despair for the leaving.
When our (mine, my parents’, my aunt’s, my uncle’s, my 11 year old cousin’s) flight from Vancouver to Calgary was delayed for 2 hours, we missed our connection from Calgary to Dulles by 3 minutes. I do not care much for Canada; it feels like nobody in that country moves with any urgency. We were held up in security, chastised by border patrol officers, and loudly cursed at by an ugly white guy in the customs line. I still hear his voice ringing in/grating at my ears, and I can recall my cousin’s big eyes looking at me as he asked about that man, about why he was so mad, and whether we should hope that he would miss his flight (or worse!). But anyway — We were stranded in Calgary for another day.
Nothing was that bad. If the minutes between landing in Calgary and running to the gate were of the most stressful in my life, I will have lived in nearly total bliss. The sweet WestJet agent at the gate who had hair like Steve Martin told us we were some of the nicest people he had met who had just missed a flight. We were so calm, because, after all, there was nothing else to do. We had already done our fretting and running and rushing and barking, and where had it gotten us? We could now only follow this man’s Canadian inflections down the sterile corridors of the Calgary airport and get booked on a new flight.
We interfaced with more strangers during those hours in the airport than I have in months. A whole lot of sorrys and excuse-mes and bless-yous. Everything seemed to be going wrong, and we were always asking for help. Or so that’s how it feels — Beyond the airport, I am surrounded by people in the same context as me. I don’t know everything about the people walking down the street, or onto the train, or into my building. But for the most part I know they are supposed to be here. Yet in the airport, everyone comes from everywhere.1 Sure, we are here. But why? Where else is the world ever like that?
“People watching” doesn’t fully capture the allure of being surrounded by strangers in an airport. There is something more perverse about seeing others in a primal state of displacement, in a vulnerable state of transience. At the airport I am sitting at the gate and not only am I watching you but I am also judging you and developing narratives and pathologies. I am texting my friends the things you’re saying on the phone. I am smelling you and catching glances, and I am wondering what you think of me and my family, and if we’re taking up too many seats. You could be anyone, and I could be anyone.2
The randomness of our circumstances becomes both a source and consumer of energy — as much as I want to see others, I don’t want to be seen. The airport makes you peer into the entropy of other lives, but it also requires you to wrangle it in a tight space. At the airport we are going through so many sociolegal processes — ticketing, security, boarding, sitting, deplaning — while navigating and negotiating one-off norms with people who share little with you. It is easy to get annoyed. I get annoyed. I texted my friends a while back that depending on my mood, the airport can either amaze or enrage me. Amazing when I look around and see how all these people from all over the world are able to get along in order to move along. How we’ve agreed on little rules and put up with each others’ bodies and behaviors for a few hours. But it is enraging when someone puts a tiny backpack in the overhead compartment even though it’s a full flight. Enraging when I’ve decided people don’t care about others anymore. What happened to polite society? Yadda yadda yadda.
I am back in DC now, for two days. What a trip! Have you ever forcibly spent a night in Calgary? I don’t necessarily recommend it, but it was cute enough.
some things:
i had such a lovely time visiting my amazing and beautiful and funny and talented cousin in vancouver. she was a pro volleyball player and coach and I’m really proud of her and happy she’s there, idk
btw everyone in vancouver is iranian. Like literally everyone. Walk into walmart and everyone’s iranian — the cashiers, the customers, the people loitering outside. You can’t speak in farsi anywhere bc everyone knows what you’re saying. There’s a chain of persian grocery stores. Every ad is for an Iranian lawyer. Los Angeles count your days. “Tehrangeles” is in shambles. You don’t even know the shit they’re on in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. You just don’t know
i don’t really fw canada anymore. not related to the iranian stuff but rather because nobody there has the sauce
immediately after coming back from canada I had to go to a conference and then the #beach with my friends. I felt, to be honest, quite stupid at this conference. I felt the same way when I went last year, I think. When does the stupid feeling go away? Maybe never — maybe I am stupid.
I had such a delightful time at the beach with my lovely friends, laying in the sun and swimming and floating and eating and playing spikeball and charades and bananagrams. the beach obviously makes me think about how small I am and this time I kept thinking about the tides. How the moon and earth have to be the way they are for the waves to crash at my legs the way they do. Gee!
I watched Frances Ha on the plane, which I greatly enjoyed and was the kind of movie I really missed watching. A coming-of-age film that feels fresh (even though it’s from 2012)
ugh what else. idk i’m too tired to think. I finished reading The Centre, which I thought was fine. I’m getting comfy in my new apartment. I’m listening, still, to a lot of Shania Twain and Luke Bryan. And Espresso obvvvvvvvv. I’ve been watching soccer and some tennis. I watched some gymnastics with my roommate. I have some bugs in my apartment we’re trying to KILL. I am looking for a new not genocide-denying crossword to do every morning.
ok that’s all. bye!
PM
I’m reminded of the time I was flying to cleveland a few years back and I kept giggling and laughing to myself on the plane because all I could think was WHY do all these people need to go to cleveland!!!!!
Perhaps this partly explains the oft-discussed ‘sexual tension between you and the only other person your age at the airport’
"i don’t really fw canada anymore. not related to the iranian stuff but rather because nobody there has the sauce" hahaha. I love your writing style.