One of the best things about being raised by airports is that I learned to people-watch (but only after the Columbus airport got rid of the Legos; always pick Legos over people).
People-watching in the airport is handy for many reasons:
- Getting to know the person you’ll be spending the next 5 hours sitting next to (from a distance) before having to endure 5 hours of endless rambling or sleep-drool on your shoulder.
- Evaluating the attractiveness of men wandering in cowboy hats, and applying mathematical values to assist in ranking (i.e. boots to match hat: +1; loudly talking in forced Southern accent: -1; giving up seats to old ladies: +3; evident douchebaggery: -10)
- Remembering why it’s okay to not to fit in with the mainstream (I’ll take my flip phone over your obsessive scrolling of Facebook on a 5.1″ screen)
- Getting a million story ideas from the good, the bad, and the interesting conversations cutting through the din
- Enjoying at least three different decades of fashion styles, from “I’ve been wearing this outfit since freshman year of high school . . . in 2001,” to “I’m so glad 90s floral is back in style,” to “This uniform hasn’t changed since 1956.” And leisure suits. Leisure suits are timeless.
Of course, people-watching comes with the acute knowledge that if you’re watching people, someone somewhere is probably watching you. I like to be interesting to watch.
Today’s choice is a sort-of well put together outfit that matches my silver & brown french manicure, sitting on the floor with my carry-ons around me like a fort, rocking side-to-side while typing, and, my favorite, making eye-contact with unsuspecting passerby looking at the ground. Nothing makes ground-looking people more uncomfortable than eye-contact.
(Ooh! White-dude dreadlocks shaved into a mohawk of epic proportions. I tip my invisible hat to you, sir.)
Man, this concourse just got a lot more crowded. Surprisingly, less variation in clothing, but more variation in headwear/haircuts. Hello, gentlemen with intentionally created combovers (it’s the second cousin to the mowhawk-dreads).
Alright, time to pack up. This has been rambling, brought to you by a long night of staring at Excel spreadsheets and animated chatting with a person I’ve never met (who happens to bring out the random in me).
My apologies if you’re just not sure what to do with this post. I’ll review it for sanity at a later date.