Written in London, the capital of England, the UK, and Great Britain.
I remember a TV advert of some kind from my boyhood. It showed OJ Simpson running through the airport. I don't know what they were advertising, but if I saw that commercial now I would never buy whatever they were selling, even if the ad didn't star an un-convicted murderer.
I'm 1/2 way through my trip DCA-ORD-LRH-LUN. I have a long layover here in Heathrow. As well as allowing me to suck up free food and drinks and recline on the posh couches in the several-hectare lounge, the length of the layover allows me one of my favorite passtimes: walking through airports. Very. Slowly. While those around me run or do that weird walk-run thing with big black bags dangling from arms and shoulders banging against their (ample) hips and a wild-eyed panic growing on their faces, I stroll placidly, tugging my little rolling briefcase, safe in introvert-world, created in part by my iPod. But it's more than just smugness. Walking slowly through airports means many things, only a portion of which I can identify:
- I have lots of time so will not miss my next flight which would knock down my delicate itinerary like the shaky string of dominoes it is.
- Because I have a layover, I will be pampered in the lounge with good food, good drink, fast wifi, and flight announcements done in polite English accents in that golf announcer sotto voce.
- I will get on the plane in plenty of time, so I wil find a place for my luggage and settle in while the plane fills
Beyond this I can't explain the euphoria that fills me as I stroll beside, rather than on, those moving walkways.