Up Up and Away

I’m sitting in the Chicago O’Hare International Airport and I must say that I have, aside from a few Birbiglia jokes floating about my head, a creepy feeling that I’m in a taping of the next Home Alone film. The concourses are laden with holiday decor and people are running (for no particular reason.. all of the flights are delayed as usual) through the terminals as the mix of Christmas music and CNN news commentary create the backgrounding white noise. The sun is sinking, although not fast enough, and the glare on the linoleum-tile floor is enough to invoke a headache or seizure to those who are prone.

My flight into Chicago seemed much different than all those I have taken before - possibly because I’ve never been able to enjoy a window seat on a delayed 1:20 pm flight (thanks to the guy who is apparently unfamiliar with the alphabet) or because I’m able to call thoughts to mind this time around contrary to those I have always experienced in my mid-air travels. Either way, the sepia glow of the setting sun supplementary to a cruising altitude of 33,000 feet brought the well-known feeling of watching cities suddenly become faceless and unimportant and clouds become cotton-balls suspended in the sky which was refreshing to discern.

My dad said goodbye to me via a message from the pilots as we left the SGF airspace which made me burst into silent tears upon reflection of the fight we had this morning. The flight crew assumed that we got off the ground 15 minutes early because of my dad working in the tower, so the flight attendant came over to talk to me, acting as though she was completely enthralled with anything that I would have said if I wouldn’t have been choking on air. I’m slightly glad that I was unable to speak, though, because she seemed like one of those ridiculously cheery people for a delayed flight who would probably creep me out in less than 17 seconds.

The probability of my leaving Chicago O’Hare sometime in the next century is looking increasingly dim as every time I look up at the monitor another 15 minutes seems to get tacked onto our delay. It’d be fine if I could find the panini place that was so popular amongst travelers on my last flight form O’Hare to Newark, but I have a feeling the nearest prospect could be located somewhere in the eastern hemisphere.. at least an hour walk from anywhere near where I need to be. I’m thinking about caving and getting some uber-greasy Chinese that bears a striking resemblance to plastic if I don’t see anyone with whom I can inquire about my sandwich.

One of the American Airlines people at the desk decided to brighten our day earlier by singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” over the intercom, which was pleasant and unexpected - a much appreciated combination. The children sitting around the gates all whispered in hushed voices with adorable smiles on their faces and families and couples who were traveling together leaned a little closer to one another for the two minute song. Even the woman with the saddest eyes I have ever seen who was sitting beside me carrying a dozen and a half pink roses seemed to put he tissue down and grin for awhile.

Well, they claim that we’re preparing to board.... we’ll see how this goes.