I LOVE AIRPORTS. Not in the Love Actually, it’s heartwarming to see people who miss people and who have been missed, kind of way. And I’m not talking about the anticipation that new hiking boots in my backpack and a ticket in my hand can bring.
I love airports in the same way I love airplanes. An airport is a place I can sit with a coffee and a book, and where I usually do not have the ability to wikipedia every fifth word in the book.
I love airports, but I have observed that all people working in airports — in any capacity — hate their lives. This was my accepted truth, anyways, until I flew out of Spokane International in eastern Washington.
Here’s how that went, juxtaposed with a typical experience at my home airport of Boston Logan.