The Airport

I left the house at 0 dark-hundred to catch the earlier flight to Washington. Traffic was great, I parked in my regular area at O’Hare, the security line was short and the flights ran on time. I was flying with all of the regular DC commuting types, such that there was actual snarkiness between two Global Alliance passengers regarding the “line” to board and who would be getting on the plane first. One guy said:

“Calm down. My standing here is not going to take away your Global Alliance status.”

Real Time Interlude: I ordered a pizza for dinner. The lady that delivered it said, “I haven’t seen you in, what, a month?”

“Three weeks.”

Anyway, when I arrived, I checked in on Facebook and my friend Ingrid took a picture from her camera phone of just how bloody crowded it was at O’Hare’s Terminal 1 this morning. Five gates down. At exactly the same time.

I have often wondered, while wandering around O’Hare, how many people that I know personally are actually in the airport right at the same time. Odds are, there are several. I only ran into one once and it was a co-worker. Maybe I’d better start paying attention. This is going to make me crazy.

So, yeah. Pizza. Homework. NCIS. Again.

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