What I am thinking.
what am i thinking?
It's been asked of me again, this time with just shy of two weeks notice. "Can you be in Austin from the 29th through the 1st?" Does it matter that I'll be just returning to the country on the 28th? Not particularly. With red eyes and no juice in the battery, we're off once more on a grand adventure to everybody's favorite vacation destination: Texas-Land. As usual, I've entertained myself by jotting things down along the way. What else is one to do? At the Starbucks across from gate B7A in the SeaTac airport, a worker drags a trashcan out of the store. He’s hurried, and wears clean-looking leather boots which squeak against the slick tile floor. The trashcan, wheel-less, gently resists him as he tows it like an old dog, walking through the line and out into the terminal to dispose of. Returning with the task complete, the man disappears momentarily into the back-of-house, and emerges with a broom that has a long, tiring-looking history. It’s bristles jag in every which way. One can only assume that it’s been struck by lightning. Or perhaps the Starbucks cheerleading team uses it as a pompom in their after-hours activity.
At gate B7A, a woman approaches an airport employee who is actively speaking with a coworker in developed, skillful Spanish. The woman asks when there might be a flight attendant at the Gate desk. Breaking from the fast-paced back-and-forth with his coworker, he switches to English to inform the woman that a flight attendant would be at the desk at a later time. It’s difficult to argue with this. The woman feigns appreciation for this information, and walks away. An older man approaches the standing work station adjacent to Gate B7A. He wears blue jeans, a plain black jacket, and a large white beard with an otherwise clean-shaven face. He looks farm-y enough to be named Jebediah, and might just as easily be seen guiding his oxen through the fields as they tow a hand-forged plow. He’s accompanied by an elderly woman, conservatively dressed in contemporary prairie attire completed by a small pin-up hat, and a late-teenage son whose loud yellow and black flannel is tucked into faded blue jeans held up by a belt which clearly states that the boy knows cows. The son wears a black hat with a large Chevy logo over a dirty-blonde mullet. In the SeaTac airport, a veritable buffet of interesting goings-on, they keep my attention more than all else. For the next ten minutes, I keep an eye on them as they put down a large McDonalds to-go bag, and tuck in, watching planes take off out the window and remarking to one-another, presumably about the myriad differences between this place of planes and their place of plains. I’d like to welcome all First Class travelers to board at Gate B7A. All First Class travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Diamond travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Diamond travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Comfort+ travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Comfort+ travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Sky Priority travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Sky Priority travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Main Cabin 1 travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Main Cabin 1 travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Main Cabin 2 travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Main Cabin 2 travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Main Cabin 3 travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Main Cabin 3 travelers. … I’d like to welcome all Cows, Pigs, Goats, and other travelers with cloven hooves to board at Gate B7A. All Cows, Pigs, Goats, and other travelers with cloven hooves. … I’d like to welcome all Basic Economy travelers to board at Gate B7A. All Basic Economy travelers. The man sitting beside me on the flight to Austin has taken off his shoes. He raises his leg and puts a socked foot up on the armrest of the seat in front of us. When the stewardess comes by with drinks, he asks for a coffee and six cream packets. He would also like almonds. When he’s given the packet of almonds, he calls the stewardess’ attention to the fact that the bag is very small. He’s right. There must be 5 almonds in that bag. The stewardess gets him another 2 bags of almonds. Hours later, as we’re descending into Austin, he produces a banana from his backpack, peels it, and eats it. Then he produces a hard boiled egg, peels it, and eats it. Then he produces another hard boiled egg, peels it, and eats it. And then - I am not making this up - he produces another banana, peels it, and eats it. I like this guy. In downtown Austin, a man drives his lifted truck into the entrance of a car garage. He is tentative and slow, obstructing my walking path with his care. It makes sense though, I think to myself as the truck lifts and scrapes against the hanging height warning. He’s in for an exciting morning. The team has a happy hour at a combo pub and bowling alley. At some point in the night, I head to the restroom, where I find that the urinals are positioned above a grated floor with stainless steel drainage underneath. It’s a clear vote of no confidence. On the 13th floor of the office, just beside the elevator door, there’s a blue Nerf dart lying sideways. The facilities staff must wonder just what it is we do here. Sometimes, I do. Walking out of the the hotel, I briefly make eye contact with a man standing by the door in a suit and crisp white shirt. He’s waiting for a car, and, not allowing even our fleeting connection to pass wordlessly, asks me how I am. I want to tell him that I’m lonely, that it’s been this way for days, almost like I’m floating through time, like none of the people I’ve spoken to this past week are real. I want to tell him how sad it is, that man is meant for true and continued company. I can imagine him standing there, increasingly ready for the arrival of his car, nodding and looking around to see if there was a way out. But I spare him. “I’m well, thank you.” Getting into the Lyft to take me to the Austin airport, I hope to sit silently, writing. My driver though, is too kind, too conversational, too good of a listener, and too interesting in his own right. He was a news anchor. He has 3 kids. He attempted a church plant, but lost his job. He has lived in San Diego and San Jose. He took up running, and he loves it. He feels profoundly thankful for the impact his youth pastors had on his life growing up. He works 12 hour shifts each day driving for Lyft to support his wife and kids. He’s tirelessly looking for another job. He sees the ministry opportunity that he’s given each day driving for Lyft, and he seizes it. I write nothing except his name over the course of our 15 minute car ride, so I can find him on LinkedIn later. I am watching people in the Austin airport as I eat barbecue and wait for my plane. A younger guy is walking by with a pair of white and blue Hokas on his backpack, each shoe nestled in one of the water bottle pouches on the side. He is wearing an identical pair on his feet. I’m not sure if this is an indication of a deep-seated blandness, or an enviably confident decisiveness. Another man walks by very slowly with squinted eyes, a mouth partially open with minor tongue protrusion, and a vague look on his face. These indications are much more clear. By some beautiful miracle, I am now on the plane back to Seattle, seated 3 rows back and across the aisle from that interesting man that I sat next to on my flight to Austin 3 days ago. I look forward to watching him in between chapters of War and Peace. As I write this, I can see him eyeing his shoes and planning their imminent removal. Driving home from the SeaTac airport, I think of a friend of mine who I saw just the weekend prior. I’ll see him in two days - seven days since I saw him last. And yet, it seems like I’ve lived a month since then. Work trips feel that way to me - so packed with activity, quick-thinking, unfamiliar environments, and responsibility that one day has the weight of a week, and 4 have the weight of a month. Over the blur of meetings, hasty tasks, and long nights of “team building”, I survive off the deep inhale I take before leaving my home, and I long for the deep exhale I give upon my return. But who would know that? My friend will look at me as one he just got out of a car with, and I will be so glad to see him again, after all this time.
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