And so i travel... again

3000 feet in the sky and my stomach was screaming for food and my bladder was rebelling to the caramel macchiato Grande I had hurriedly bought at Starbucks before my departure from John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana on my way to St. Paul Minnesota. ETB is 3:00 at Dallas International Airport for my connecting flight. The guy seated beside me was quietly munching a chocolate bar with brand unfamiliar to me. I was close to salivating. I was entertaining the idea of grabbing the chocolate, poke his two eyes with my finger then let go one of my infamous fart attacks then jump off the plane just so to appease my rebelling stomach. Then people would be talking not about my death but about my fart. HEADLINE: ASIAN GUY JUMPS OFF THE PLANE. FART A TARGET OF INVESTIGATION. My Asian fart. What’s with the year of eating Chinese foods? Maybe i will appear someday in the movie The Chronicle of Hernia. Anyways, my initial plotting was distracted by the captain, with a voice like he’d just came from a deep slumber, made an announcement that in 30 minutes, our plane would be landing at Dallas Forth Worth International Airport and that we should keep our seatbelt on and I was expecting to hear more about fixing our hair, checking our inner selves, motives, intentions, and praying the rosary. So much of impersonal civility. I’m not sure if he even meant what he said considering the stresses pilots are having now a days. The cold and lifeless tone of the pilot’s voice with the incessant whizzing of the plane as it breaks through the clouds makes a perfect script for B-doomsday movie. I failed to grasp any positive undertones from his voice, like, maybe, ummm a promise of hot meal, ice tea, and free back massage if just in case we failed to land safely. My back was already sore and my seatmate’s breathing was close to snoring, unaware of my plot while ago to poke his two so American eyes. Suddenly my hunger was replaced by worries as I tried to mentally navigate my way to the airport, making sure I’ll not get lost getting to my connecting flight. An hour ago, I saw from one of the magazines the map of the airport with all the other major airports in the country. It’s just like airport for dummies. I was baffled with what I saw. It’s just like ten times the size of our airport in Manila. I remember my wife telling me about taking an elevator going to a train called Skylink that will take us to our respective gates like toys going through quality control before distributing to some countries only God knows where. Maybe Laos. Finally, the plane quietly taxied to the tarmac, and I took a deep breath, so deep that when I had my check-up later they found pencils, magazines, and straw inside my lungs.

As I approached the entrance, I gave a quick survey of the interior of the airport while maintaining my cool stance. The lady on the counter wearing her AA uniform was ushering a lady to the entrance when I cut her off and told her, in a wary-free voice, I have a connecting flight and I am not quite sure which gate to take. Taking a quick glimpse at my ticket as if looking at a fake bill, answered with her cheek almost reaching her ears that I should take the elevator up and that would be it. I figured it’s her way of saying I was not so stupid to miss it. On the elevator, a couple with Middle Eastern accent was arguing about the other guy’s lack of courtesy as the guy arrogantly, in between puffing, insist that it’s not the smoking that will kill him but of his wife’s baseless nagging and worrying. I gave them a quick look and smile. As my eyes were waiting to see the signs ahead as the elevator slowly ascend, a Hispanic-looking woman just a step ahead of me turned her head on and muffled something unintelligible like a child awoken from her nightmare. I thought she was giving me a reprove for standing close to her but when she showed me her ticket with the A-13 highlighted like a low score on a test then I know she was as lost as me. Worries were written all over her Hispanic face. We reached the platform and just to make sure we were on the right door, we asked the stewardess standing motionless like a mannequin in front of the D-2 gate who had graciously confirmed we are on the right gate. A few minutes passed and the Skylink’s door opened silently. Inside the train no sound at all except for the blood pounding in my ears , feeling edgy as if I was standing inside a holy sanctuary and surrounded by monks in suits and leather bags. It’s almost theatrical. Two black guys with nice suit seated and almost sprawled on the floor reading what looks like a novel. Maybe Mills and Boon. Who knows? The interior was like a space capsule, almost spotless with the flooring and bars still shimmering as sprinkled of lights outside peppered the floor and the bars. I feel outdated. It’s just like the future has totally abandoned me. Not a word was spoken inside as if to do so would transport us back to our own past, past that we are all dreading to remember. Blurred faces outside as we whizzed through. The Hispanic-looking lady’s eyes were fixed on the ticket as if to make sure the numbers will not vanish from the piece of paper she’s holding. The two black guys shuffled from their seat and started to stand up and headed to the door when no sooner they stood up that the train came to its halt. A-13.I hurriedly got off, took the elevator down, turned left as the arrow would indicate A-12 to A-20 is on the left wing of the airport. The Hispanic-lady, to my surprise, started to head to the hallway ahead and I had to make a casual remark that A-13 is on the left side. She smiled and said thank you. Muchos gracias senior. Mukha mo senior.

My heart started to decelerate and sweat drying up as I made my way to the counter. Flight confirmed. 3 PM Minnesota. I almost forgot I was hungry. I almost got angry that I have forgotten I was hungry. But I don’t want to be angry and hungry at the same time. Since I have 30 minutes to spare, McDonald was the logical choice. Quarter pounder. A quarter pound of beef. Pure beef. 1190 mg of sodium and 510 calories per serving. Good choice. So American. Feeling invigorated, I settled myself on one of the chairs in the waiting area, waiting for my flight. I sat still. Checking my watch from time to time. Two young men, burgers on their hands, the one wearing 2XL size Dallas Cowboy’s shirt and the other one a plain white shirt over a blue faded jacket. Redford White came to mind. They noticed me eyeing them as if I was a pedophile watching a prey. Fascinated with their boots and cowboy hat and how they munched their burgers and licked their fingers to catch the grease dripping in their hands, I did not notice time was slipping by. It did pass me by. Just like waking up from a deep trance, I quickly went to the counter to check if we are boarding already. Just imagine my shock when I was told that the plane had already took off 30 minutes ago and that they have been paging my name several times. I felt blood rushing to my face as I frantically asked the lady in the counter to check if there’s any plane available ASAP. The other guy, noticing the embarrassment and alarm in my voice did nothing to console me but rather kept on saying that he has been paging my name. I did not mind him; my eyes were focus on the lady checking her computer for available flight. By stroke of luck, one seat was still available but the plane will make another layover at O’hare Airport in Chicago. No choice. Gate 21, leaving in 30 minutes. I was cleared. Heart pounding but I felt a sense of adventure.

As I was making my way to gate 21, I thought I need to make a call to my wife to inform her about the delay.
Me: Hello be
She: Where are you now?
Me: umm…Still in Dallas. I missed the plane
She: What? !!!
Me: I missed the plane (calm, almost laughing)
She: Where have you been? Why? How come?
Me: Nowhere. I was just sitting there in the waiting area then I was told the plane left already. But it’s ok. I got another plane. I’ll get there at 9.
She: I can’t believe it. (Sigh..) Did you check your time?
Me: yeah
She: Did you adjust it 2 hours ahead?
Me: umm…(mumbling) but it’s ok now. I got another plane. Be cool. I’m not going anywhere/
She:!!!!!!!!!!
Me:!!!!!!!!!!@#*
Then silence. I had my ticket checked. Settled myself at seat 20B, right at the emergency exit. Closed my eyes. Smiled. Then I drifted to a deep sleep. I woke up two hours later at O’hare airport but I did not bother to get off anymore. Travel fatigue started to take its toll on me. But I felt so alive. This is exactly why travelling is so exciting. It momentarily disrupts us from the inanities of a well structured life and let us, for a moment; loses ourselves to the chaos of human activities around us, opening ourselves to surprises, delays, interruptions, and ultimately to other people.