So we were told to arrive at the airport about 3 hours before takeoff for international flights. Whatevs, not too bad. Except for the fact that my flight out of Minneapolis was at 6:40 in the am. Kinda unfortunate, but again, whatevs. So being the overly punctual family that we are, we got to said airport even before 3:40.
We walked in and noticed the place to be completely barren of any and all life forms. We stumbled upon some security guard who said that the agents and such don't even show up until like 4:30. Sadsies. So alas, there was much waiting to be done. That didn't really bother me, though.
It was Philadelphia that bothered me a bit. The flight arrived at like 10:00 their time. Ahead of schedule actually, go figure. That's all well and good except for the part where the flight to Madrid didn't takeoff until 6:10. What the frigg is one supposed to do in an airport for 8 hours?
Turns out nothing. My computer's apparently a piece of work and decided that its wireless connection didn't need to funcionar, it was almost impossible to take a nap due to the fact that I'm apparently paranoid about sleeping in airports because I feel someone's going to off me in my sleep, and I quickly grew tired of lugging my bag around as I had definitely overpacked it, so wandering around was out of the question.
So what's there left to do, you ask? Stare. Yeah. Stare. Just kinda looking around watching people and such in the hopes of not coming off as too creepy. 8 hours and some change (because the flight was delayed due to some hurricane, I guess. I mean, c'mon, a hurricane?! That's weak.) of just looking at stuff. It turns out I don't have ADD.
I don't know if you could really call the Southern Style Chicken Sandwich a "good," though. *shrugs* Anyways, the woman asked for my name because apparently that's easier than a number or something. As per usual, I replied with, "Aaron," as that's totally mi nombre. Preliminary transaction completed, I walked off to find a spot to sit and wait for my foodage. T'wasn't too long before I heard, "Erik!" I rolled my eyes and walked over to procure my sustenance. Being called "Erik" has been a recent source of disconcertion for me. I get it all the time. Is it something about how I pronounce "Aaron" that forces this upon me? Meh, it's all hood.

But all that's irrelevant as I sit here typing this because holy schnikes, I'm in Spain!
3 comments:
Nice way to start off....odd story about McDonald's, but your experience sure made me laugh!
I just want to say... I also had less than fun experiences in the Philedelphia Airport... mine involved sprinting to terminal C... but then it turns out, you have to take a bus to terminal C once you think you are there... unfortunate experience involving nearly missing a flight.... also I need to tell you my sleeping in the airport story at some point... by the way...i saw this on your facebook status but probably will not get much further than reading this post... hope Spain is awesome!
You like being called Erik, don't deny it!
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