Travelling Hopefully

I’ve finally figured worked out what it is about airports that unsettles me.  The place is, by any objective standard, well lit and yet it manages to give the impression of gloom.  I always have the feeling that I can’t quite see clearly even when I’m staring at something a few inches away.  I think it’s because virtually everyone in the building intends to leave it as soon as they decently can.  This collective intention to depart gives an air of impermanence and uncertainty to the entire place as if it wasn’t quite real.  Which is pretty impressive for several square kilometres of concrete and steel.  It’s rather like being in a ghost town with the added complication that it’s full of people.

I shouldered my way through the mass semi existent people and approached the automatic check in.  This is supposed to speed the process up and I suppose it did once a staff member came and helped me after the thing didn’t recognise my passport.  This caused me existential dread totally unconnected with missing my flight.  Given the nebulous nature of reality in this place I was afraid I might dissipate into the mist myself if the documentary proof of my existence turned out to be inadequate.

Despite the very real possibility that I didn’t exist at all the security staff were sufficiently confident of the reality of me to pull everything out of my hand luggage and scan it twice before checking me for explosives residue into the bargain.  Once they had somewhat reluctantly allowed me to proceed I made my way to the departure gate where my bag and passport were checked again just in case anything had changed in the meantime.  Yes I was annoyed but I was also more than a little grateful at this independent confirmation of my existence.

Once I had been somewhat grudgingly permitted onto the plane I settled into the surprisingly comfortable seat that would be my home for the next fifteen hours.  Food was offered and I accepted more in the hope than the expectation.  As is usual on aircraft the menu was more of an aspirational statement than an accurate depiction of the food on offer.  Still they managed to produce one of the three dishes the menu boasted were on offer and it was delivered with aplomb.

Would I like wine?
Indeed I would.
White or red?
White.
Reisling or Chardonnay?
Reisling.

They brought me rose which was neither red nor white.  I pointed out that it was rose.  The steward insisted it was reisling.  I pointed out it was pink.  He looked at the label.

“It’s rose,” he announced.  Good manners prevented me from pointing out I had got there before him.  I had the rose.  I was slightly afraid of what he might come back with if I sent it away.  I didn’t want to wind up washing down my meal with jagermeister.