Thoughts from an Airport: Las Vegas

“Wait…how much should I tip this cabbie? Shit. He’s getting my bags out. That’s an extra dollar, right? At least. Three dollars? Sure. Alright. Where’s Southwest? He dropped me off at Delta. I should have only given him two bucks. Jeez, Vegas, do I really have to walk through cigarette smoke to get EVERYWHERE? Does cancer not exist here? God, that was miserable. Okay. Check my bag, check my bag, check my bag. Is there not a human I can go to so I can just CHECK MY BAG? I have to go to the automated kiosk to get a baggage tag? Shit, my confirmation number? Alright…where’s my phone? Phone phone phonity phone phone. Of course it’s at the bottom of my purse. Okay, confirmation number, where are you? Alright. R4516A. Okay. It’s only six characters? That seems short. I wonder how often they go through all of their confirmation number options. I’ll have to look that up. Okay, where do I get this stupid bag sticker from? Now how do I work it? Wait…if I still have to see a person to drop my bag off, what’s the point in doing it all in a kiosk? I don’t understand. I’m only 27. How do I not understand why we use technology? Anyway, okay, only two people working to take checked bags. Why is that guy yelling at the old man? Oh wow, that Southwest lady definitely has that situation under control. Did she just tell him to act his age? Yes, yes she did. Good for her.

Alright. Bag is checked. Still have my phone. ID. Boarding Pass. Purse. Wallet. Okay. Moving on. I guess I just follow the people. That works. Ooooh AN ESCALATOR! I love it when I don’t have to walk up stairs. Las Vegas had really good escalators. The desert must not be too hard on them. Oh good! My gate is C4, it should be just inside security. Awesome. Except…great. The gate numbers start in reverse.

I’d love to eat something, but I’m too distracted by all the lights on the slot machines to even see restaurants. Vegas. Wait…that Dunkin’ Donuts would be perfect, 20 people in line, though. Auntie Anne’s, right next door? Alright. Bagel is no different than a pretzel. I’ll even get cream cheese to dip it in. God, it costs a lot to eat in an airport. This is pretty good.

Is my plane here yet? Yes. Oh God, that guy just kissed the airport floor because he was so happy to be in Vegas. How many drinks did he have on the plane?

When can I get on this freaking plane?