Airports Exist In Their Own Parallel Universe
It was nearly 3 in the morning Spokane time, which has no corresponding equivalent in terms of the real world.
I was on my way to Calgary but was redirected to Eastern Washington after a ferocious blizzard forced a 12-hour delay in Chicago.
The pilots had reached their FAA limit of flying time in a 24-hour period and set the plane down, like truckers pulling into an interstate rest stop to nap. Calgary would still be there the next day, we were assured, as we were turned loose.
The airline gave 150 passengers vouchers for hotel rooms and taxis. At 3 in the morning in Spokane, the available cab fleet numbers about four - the math was pretty much the same as the Titanic and the lifeboats.
A surreal interlude unfolded in the strange quiet of the Spokane terminal. I am certain I heard the “Twin Peaks” theme song playing as I stared through smoky glass, watching the four taxis furiously ferrying the stranded into the darkness in groups of four and sometimes six.
The smell of fresh carpet adhesive permeated the baggage claim area and slowly my burning brain succumbed to it - axon, dendrite, then finally neuron by neuron.
Trapped in this nether world of gates, runways, escalators, vacant shoe-shine stands, conveyor belts and $8 crescent turkey sandwiches, a transcendental awareness descended upon me.
It was then they came to me, sure as the stone tablets came to Moses. I received the 12 Mysteries of the Modern Airport. And here they are:
How can there be 147 public restrooms at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport with more than 1,500 toilets, but at no time one dry seat that can be found?
In Boston, passengers are invited to buy live lobsters for the ride home. In Buffalo, frozen chicken wings are for sale. In Milwaukee, fine local beers. In Orlando, Goofy hats. Isn’t there something fundamentally wrong with a culture that extracts its identity from a dim-witted cartoon character with big ears? Unless, of course, it’s Britain’s Prince Charles?
Why are airports places where time is always valued but never measured? Flights are scheduled precisely to the minute. There are estimated times of departure and arrival. The cockpit of a 747 has gauges that monitor other gauges, redundant readings of redundant readings. The entire industry is premised on measurement. Yet, try finding that most primitive of devices - the common clock - on any airport wall when you need one.
How is it the laws of supply and demand are unenforceable inside any airport terminal? How else to explain how more than 50 million passengers passed through LAX in Los Angeles during 1994, a captive army of eaters that if offered to Domino’s would surely make economically feasible the 50-cent pizza. Yet try finding a single slice of basic pepperoni or modest mushroom there for less than $4.25. It cannot be done.
Why does the corruption of language continue to be tolerated? At Atlanta’s Hartsfield International, passengers must change concourses by entering something called a “transportation mall.” Please. This is like calling a garage a “vehicular suite.”
The Atlanta airport has 38,000 employees and Dallas-Fort Worth 35,000. But why is it impossible to find one of them at either place who knows where the mailbox is?
Why do airports put signs on escalators and moving sidewalks telling people to “Stand on the Right, and Walk on the Left”? The obviously better sign would read: “People with Manners Who Can Read, Step Aboard - Stupid People Who Won’t Follow Directions, Use the Floor.”
The nation’s 10 major airports have crews of approximately 500 workers assigned full time to terminal cleaning and maintenance. But no airport has seen fit to assign even one employee to perform a simple service that would expedite air travel immeasurably. Why is there no sport coat folding booth on each concourse, so that anxious businessmen who fear creases in their polyester would not hold up legions of boarding passengers with timeconsuming jacket stowage?
Why do airports feel compelled to present themselves as havens for the arts? Atlanta has hanging tapestries with no apparent pattern, Los Angeles has sculptures with no apparent shape, Chicago has neon lighting with no apparent function, Albuquerque has Mexican tile paintings with no apparent English translation. Why not just an inspiring picture or two? Maybe a shot of the Hindenburg so people can feel better about how far aviation has progressed. Or something spiritual like a poster of Sally Field as the Flying Nun.
At Kennedy in New York there are wandering groups of homeless people who are permanent residents. How long before the first “Will Fly for Food” sign shows itself?
By the year 2020, Atlanta will become widely regarded as the most livable city for travelers. Why? Because Atlantans will be recognized as the only people capable of going anywhere in the world without changing planes in Atlanta.
Then there are the mysteries of unearthly acoustic interventions. A person sitting at Gate 10 finds it impossible to hear the public address announcements there, but easily and clearly can pick up the audio from Gates 24, 34, 44, etc. Why? How?
The last taxi pulled up to the Spokane airport and pulled me from my enlightened stupor. I spent a short and fitful night in a nearby motel, the revelations having changed my traveling nature forever.
Dan Moffett is a sports columnist for The Palm Beach Post.