Airport Attitudes

Some people enjoy stress. I am not one of those people. If "Type A" people are the highly-driven folks who thrive on living in a high-tension mode, and "Type B" folks are those whose existence more closely resembles a Jimmy Buffet album cover...I am a "Type C". My middle name is "Mellow".

...OK, that's not true. It's really "Alan". I'm not sure where the name came from; it was probably a compromised (and intentionally dull) agreement reached between my parents after each had argued for using a Grandfather's name. Since one of my granddad's was named "Hubert" and the other "Clancy", I shall be eternally grateful for their bland decision.

But the point is that I prefer to operate in a constant state of relaxation. Rather than running with the bulls in Spain, I'm more likely to be found floating in an inner tube, slathered in sunscreen and sipping on a warm Dr. Pepper. I'm far more Barry White than Sam Kinnison; more Ben Stein than Ben Hur. Even "crunchy" peanut butter seems like an unneccesary complication—I prefer the smooth and creamy lifestyle.

[Note: For those of you who are no doubt saying, "But Terry, you are always yelling at swimmers, demanding high-stress workouts, and going all ballistic over missed two-hand touches and poorly executed underwater pulls! And what about those martial arts classes you took...and all of the times you've brutally crushed your son in tennis, racquetball, and Trivial Pursuit? Well, my friends, I'm glad you asked. You see, those situations don't represent stress at all: That's "competition", which is an entirely different thing. Are we clear? Good.]

As you might deduce, those of us afflicted by chronic mellowness do NOT like being late for plane flights. It's stressful to think that if you don't make it to the airport on time, the plane will take off without you, leaving you stranded in a city where you can't find a Chipotle and have no more clean underwear. On my recent trip to California, I woke up at 2:30am on flight day, figuring that I'd have enough time to pack, work out at the gym, and get to the airport at least 90 minutes before my scheduled departure. I had a pretty decent map of the city, and it appeared the the gym was on the direct route to the airport, and traffic would be minimal at that hour. Should be no problem, right?

Have I ever mentioned that I had radial keratotomy (RK) surgery a couple of decades ago? It's pretty much like Lasik, except that instead of computer-controlled lasers making precision adjustments, your doctor uses a hand-held X-Acto knife to carve some notches on your eyeball. The procedure improved my vision dramatically, but had the unfortunate side effect of making my eyesight fluctuate wildly during the day. Ergo, my optometrist has been unable to fit me with glasses that correct my vision consistently. I may be able to see just fine at one point in the day, but 12 hours later I could be in full Magoo mode...and there's nothing I can do about it other than squint and check out "Big Print" library books.

This fluctuating vision is not a problem at the gym. I see well enough to find the handles on the weight machines, and to pick up the dumbbells. I may not be able to read all the screen details on those fancy-pants exerbike display screens, but who cares? I can still push the UP and DOWN buttons until I find a resistance level that will give me a good workout. So I began my morning with no worries, and saw no problems with my plan until after I had lifted, showered, and had an Egg McMuffin. But shortly after I left McDonalds, I realized that there might be some stress in my short-term future.

Two issues contributed to this anxiety. The first is that I was unable to find any interior light within the rental car. For all I know, there are bulbs a-plenty scattered about the inside of the Nissan Versa, but as I drove in the general direction of the airport, I was unable to find either the lighting fixtures or the switches to get them to reveal themselves. (Yes, I know that you're supposed to read the owners manual in its entirety before even driving the car out of the Avis parking lot, but I was hungry when I picked up the car, and skipped that step in the effort to procure immediate sustenance. Oops.) So...if I wanted to review the map, I had to pull over under a streetlight somewhere. This behavior would be very annoying to other drivers, but since it was still a couple of hours before sunrise there wasn't anyone else on the road -- no harm done. It slowed me down a bit, but with this light-puddle hopping behavior, I was able to read off the names of the streets I needed to find.

Unfortunately, the streetlights seemed to be conveniently missing whenever I came to a street sign I needed to read. With 20/20 eyeballs I would've been fine, but as Squinty McMoleman, I must've missed my turn. I was kindof expecting some big "TURN HERE FOR THE AIRPORT, PINHEAD!" signage, but apparently the San Jose city fathers do not feel they're necessary. Anyway, the street I was on curved off in a direction that didn't match anything on my map, and before I knew it, I found myself downtown...which is NOT where I wanted to be.

I had no fear at all that I'd be able to eventually find the airport; the airport is about half the size of the entire city. My panic began when I started thinking about the fact that I hadn't flown out of this airport before -- and had no idea how the rental car return system worked, how frequently the Avis shuttles ran to the terminal, how long of a line there would be at Security, etc etc. My stress level began to rise.

My primary plan was to ask a pedestrian to point in the general direction of the Airport. This wasn't Pennsylvania, after all -- most of the streets tend to continue in one direction for a while...so if I headed in the right direction, I figured I'd eventually find it. Unfortunately, it was still too early in the morning for the citizenry to be out and about, and they apparently don't have many homeless people in downtown San Jose. There were no signs of life at all.

Plan B? Turn around and drive back to the last point where I was certain I was on the correct route. After that, turn around again and take a different turn than I did before. And see what happens.

Why yes, you're right -- I AM a master navigational strategist.

Or not.

Fortunately, this time I DID see a sign pointing toward the airport just as I was entering the intersection. Pulling a "Smokey and the Bandit"-type turn, I was finally heading in the right direction. On this road, there were plenty of Airport signs, so I had no other problems finding the rental car return. I won't bore you with my further anxieties that arose when I couldn't find the rental shuttle, nor about when I walked into the wrong terminal building and was told that I had to walk another half mile or more to check my bag. The bottom line good news is that I still had a half-hour to spare by the time I arrived at the departure gate. Now there was nothing to worry about other than whether I'd have to sit next to somebody who smelled.

As is my custom when I have spare time prior to departure, I began to walk the concourse. I do this for a couple of reasons: One is that it helps me burn off the Cinnamon Melt that I probably shouldn't have had for breakfast, and the other is that I enjoy watching the people. It's fun to see the different types. Here are a few I seem to see on every trip:

• Blackberry Businessman: "I need to talk loud and use cool business catchphrases so everyone will know how important I am."


• Tired Family: The kids still have some energy after the vacation, but Mom and Dad really wish they'd just sit still for a bit.


• Novel-reading Hippie: Regardless of the weather, there will always be one young woman wearing a shapeless burlap dress and sandals, intently reading a mystery about cats, or something written by Al Gore.


• Hip Rebel: Scandalous t-shirt, baseball cap in whatever mode is favored by current rap artists, and a permanently defiant sneer that hides a deep anxiety over whether his ultra-cool tattoos and nose-rings will keep him permanently unemployed.


• Douchebag Swim Coach: The guy who walks up and down the concourse, making superficial judgments about other folks and lumping them into convenient categories for his own personal amusement.

Anyway, as I was happily strolling down the concourse, I happened to pass a woman who was headed in the same direction. Since she and I were the only ones in that particular area at the moment, she took the opportunity to speak to me. "Why don't they have those powered walkways like they do in other airports?", she asked. I hadn't even noticed, but she was correct; if you wanted to get anywhere in this airport, you had to use your own leg power. "I have no idea," I replied.

"Well, they should have 'em. This is too far to expect anyone to walk."

I smiled at that remark -- after all, I was walking away from where I needed to be, and was doing it precisely because it was a nice long walk. "You're right", I agreed, then wished her luck and continued down the concourse while she stopped to rest. I'd guess she was about my age, and it made me take a moment to think about how people view the world in such different ways. Some people look at walking as a pleasant method of moderate exercise -- others look at it as a horrible burden. And some of my favorite people look at walking as just a stupidly slow and inadequate substitute for the joy of running.

It's all about attitude. You can look at flying as a hideous imposition on your time and personal comfort, or you can look at it as an opportunity to catch up on your reading and to savor the exotic aromas of humanity that make each day such a rich sensory experience.


It may not be all that much fun, but with the right attitude, I believe you can get some sort of enjoyment and/or learning experience out of each flight you take. And since I'll be traveling more over the next couple of months, you can look forward to upcoming discussions of baggage claim psychology, airport restaurant etiquette, and why I think Alan Roach is the only logical successor to Don LaFontaine. In the meantime, have a great day!

And by the way...Happy Birthday to Mickey Canaday!