Airports are  logically marvelous places. What I mean is, they are designed for people who don't know what they are doing and are frankly quite nervous of being yanked aside and frisked in public. The walls are blue and calming, the counters and beams are clean metal. The layout is essentially one huge maze one goes through. If you can read and follow directions (passed second grade) you can do an airport.

I was prepared to deal with people who have become hard and embittered by their government  jobs that they are overqualified for. This is especially true of post offices, the Secretary of State office, and the DMV. Airports are no exception, but the employees weren't that bad. At least, I was thinking that as I went through the metal detector and was yelled at by a woman who overfloweth off her wheely chair for leaving my laptop in the bag as it went through the scanner. There wasn't a sign about that, I swear.

After that, I was in the terminal. With 3 hours. And nothing to do. So, as my carry on/ tote weighed on my shoulder full of books, I walked down the hall of shops. I quickly learned to look as boring and lethargic as possible whilst in an airport. Every expression except completely weary and uninterested makes the guards look you over suspiciously. I found that out when I had the audacity to smile at one of them in passing.

I passed by a Coney Island, two Borders, and a few newspaper/candy shops, all standard airport fare to my knowledge. Then I noticed a mysterious door labeled "Reflection Center." What the heck is a Reflection Center? The windows were glazed and the guard was looking at me again, so I may never know the answer.

I ramble too much. So, to keep the story moving, I went to the Mcdonald's and paid $4 for a hamburger, knocked around Borders and Brookstone for as long as I could stand it (15 minutes), and found my gate. The wait was now 2 hours. Two hours of sitting on a deceptively hard seat waiting for my plane. My father obviously likes to be early.