The Six-Hour Layover: A Lost Art
First off, let me make it clear that during my recent six-hour layover, at no time did I encounter the above bunny and suitcase. In fact, in all my travels I have never encountered a bunny with a suitcase. But gosh, now my bucket list has a new experience added to it, let me tell you.
As anyone who has ever survived navigating between terminals at LAX well knows, not all airports are the same. Heavens, no. My travels last week included hours spent in both Philadelphia and Denver. And praise be to Joseph of Cupertino that my six-hour layover was at the latter of the two.
Note: Joseph of Cupertino is the patron saint of aviation (among other things). He was born in Cupertino, Italy in 1603. I’m not talking about some dude from California.
The Denver airport was downright lovely, as far as airports go. With the comfy seats, good music, and overpriced wine, it honestly brings to mind a good date-night locale. Except of course for the part where you have to remove your shoes and submit to a body scan. Okay, maybe not a good date destination after all.
Philadelphia was a different story. There’s a general air of unchecked aggression and broken dreams, with just a dollop of mindless drudgery mixed in. Not that I’m necessarily singling out PHL. On the contrary, I think a feeling of hostile hopelessness is the norm when it comes to airports. Denver was just a delightful exception.
If you can swing it, there are memberships you can enroll in to access airport lounges and other perks. These are pricey, unless you travel enough to where it makes sense for you (meaning you’ll spend less on the membership, which often includes free food + drink, than you would on food + drink in the course of your airport travels).
When my daughter says, “Mom, they have Sbarro! And a slice of pizza is only twelve dollars!?!?”, I can respond with a firm “No, because who knows what free culinary delights await us in the airport lounge?” The culinary offerings may turn out to be delightful. Or not.
Before heading to the Philadelphia airport, I thought I’d look up what my fancy schmancy membership afforded me. There was nothing in my terminal, but they did have options in other terminals. If we had time, we could go to another terminal and enjoy free access to… a gym.
Excuse me? Who the hell thought a gym in an airport would be a good idea? Not the person who has to sit next to the guy on the plane who just worked out at the goddamn airport gym, I can tell you that much!
The experience in PHL was made worse when my traveling companion-
(YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND I’M GOING TO BLACKMAIL YOU WITH THIS STORY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’D BE MORTIFIED IF I IDENTIFIED YOU)
-suffered an unfortunate bout of food poisoning following a particularly atrocious meal.
I can be okay with the exorbitant prices of airport food if the food is good. But when you feel like you’re paying the equivalent of a car downpayment to be served something borderline inedible (which you try to consume nonetheless, like that guy on Alone who tried to eat his belt), well, that just plain sucks.
We’d reconciled with the fact that our meal had been both terrible and expensive, and had moved on from the matter.
Or so we thought.
As we stood in line, about to board the plane to Denver, my traveling companmom turned to me and said, “I don’t feel very good.” The expression on her face reminded me of a wild animal confronted with the prospect of captivity. She grabbed her purse and bolted.
We both knew, from our previous hours spent at PHL, that the bathroom was not close by. And the plane was boarding. I started running through various scenarios in my mind, while she started running toward the distant and giant “W” that signified a commode.
Obviously I couldn’t leave her there if she didn’t return in time… (or could I?).
Of course not, Amanda! Stop being such an asshole! Besides, she’d left her carryon with me, and if I abandoned her I’d also be abandoning unattended baggage. I pictured an Air Marshal leaping out from behind a fake plant to tackle me as I deserted the bag. Or to tackle her when she returned to find only her lonely mini-suitcase, as I sat back during takeoff without her.
On the other hand… What if this sudden illness would last for days? (I could totally leave her then, right? OMG, worst daughter ever.)
But my mom, uh, I mean, traveling companion (shit, there goes my opportunity for blackmail) returned in time and we made the flight. She’d been sick from the horrible meal (the breath mint kind of sick, not the Imodium kind), but made a full recovery over the next hour.
Which was good!
Because we still had 3 1/2 hours on the plane and then (unbeknownst to us) a full six hours in Denver before boarding our final short flight to Boise.
Once in Denver, we watched our departure time experience delay after delay, until I was sure they’d cancel the flight altogether. They didn’t, and we at least could enjoy the sweet sounds of A-ha and Toto and Stevie Wonder, while resting our ever-widening asses on comfortable, couch-like seating, which happened to be purple (which I found pleasing).
But I digress.
The true art of experiencing a six-hour layover… yes, it involves a weird mix of hand sanitizer, yawning, inexplicable crotch sweating, illogical purchases, and people-watching to a level that would get you arrested in any other environment.
But it’s also a time (too much time) to think about things in a different light.
My traveling companion (aka my mom who vomited just in time for the PHL -> DEN flight and who will abhor that I’m writing this) and I came to the conclusion that if a flight lands, it is a success. The trials along the way… they really don’t matter.
It’s also worth noting that in any given year, only 5% to 10% of the world’s population gets on a plane. And less than 20% of the world’s population has ever flown at all.
Most people would say that a six-hour layover isn’t fun. But in the grand scheme of things, I welcome it.
For more helpful tips, such as How to Pet a Bison at Yellowstone and Procrastination 101, find me on Medium here: https://medium.com/@amandaturner_95992.
