Snowpocalypse

Snowpocalypse

There was nothing to do. 

“We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused our travelers. Please visit the help kiosk for a complementary meal voucher as we work to rectify the problem.”

“How could one of the worlds largest airports, Heathrow, be completely unprepared for two inches of snow the day before Christmas?” I wondered. Nonetheless, all I had was Euros which would be useless to me in America, so I decided to try and rid myself of the clanky coins by finding a bookstore. I had already ruled out grabbing the meal voucher, the line was a wrapping loop of wandering, dazed, angry, and exhausted passengers forcing themselves to remain upright while the single help kiosk took their time dealing with one passenger at a time. No, I wasn’t going to subject myself to that only for some poor overworked receptionist to have to listen to one more waylaid passenger complain about something completely out of her control. Instead, I grabbed my backpack and started wandering around. I’ve never been good at walking through crowds. I think it has something to do with my eyes, they throw people off. I try to look where I’m walking but then something captures my attention and I’m practically running into someone going the other way. If I try to make room for others, I get swallowed up and log jammed. I have always gone against the grain a bit, to my friends, family, teachers, and acquaintances dismay and frustration. They don’t understand that when I go with the crowd, I feel like I’m cattle being taken to slaughter. I know it doesn’t make sense. Blame my childhood. So, while I’m not good at moving through crowded spaces, I do feel at home. I feel like a salmon whose turned back from the waterfall and is headed the other way. Or like a hiker who reached the washed out bridge and gets to warn all the other hikers to turn around and go back the other way. Except I don’t actually warn anybody about anything. That’s how much of a jerk-face I am. To be fair, all the bridges are out in this situation. 

My feet stumbled over the gradual upward slope leading into the next seating area. I’d walked past all the bookstores by mistake. I could turn around, but that went against my character. All that was left for spending options was a coffee shop. I got in line, trying to maintain my posture. Something about airports make me want to slump, slouch like the leaning Tower of Pisa. You’d get this if you could see how tall I am. And how uncertain my foundation. The line moved slowly, the whole time making me feel as if I’d joined the enemy. “One slaughter, extra cream, no sugar, to go please,” I thought to myself. To my left a flight board suddenly refreshed and now every single flight on it said “CANCELLED.” There was a low murmur that swept through the crowded terminal. Some folks headed straight for the bathroom, others pulled out their cellphones and made grim, “what-can-you-do,” sounding phone calls to presumably loved ones. Others raced to find seating where they could setup their laptops and keep up whatever fire burned within them to remain good productive office workers. That sounds more judgmental that it should, I suppose. I got my coffee and went to a window. I wanted to see all the planes stuck there. I was like a watch dog. I better not see any planes takeoff. Not without us passengers. I was ready to catch the whole airline industry in a lie. My coffee was too hot to drink so I held it there, arm at a right angle, backpack straps digging into my shoulders. 

On the tarmac I watched a crew remove baggage from a plane and load it onto cart trucks. I could see the exhaust puffing from the tailpipe, he'd left the truck running while he loaded. I guessed that this was against policy but that this worker wasn’t paid much and probably chastised for taking too long, and so he’d found a solution. No doubt he was working alone because the airport was suddenly short staffed with all the planes needing help unloading. 

I watched some birds enter restricted airspace, filling in the gaps. Rushing in to fill a void. All living things partake in the dance of life. If one creature lets down the slack another will pick it up. I tried my coffee again and burnt my tongue a second time. “Cup technology is insanely good,” I thought. The man unloading luggage tossed a bag a little too hard and with a little too much angular momentum because it suddenly sent the truck cart into a tailspin. It was like he’d slapped an angry bull on the butt. He raced to try and hop aboard the loose cannon but it was now doing large circles, launching baggage off it like spittle. Another worker caught sight of the problem and came rushing over, but the two were helpless, the truck was careening in a mad circle, as if it had waited its whole life to take self-actualized action. I pointed this out to a family sitting behind me and a little boy and girl jumped out of their seats and came running to observe. Several suggestions were tossed out. 

“They should wait ‘till it tires itself out, no use getting hurt.”

“That could be OUR luggage on board. We have souvenirs in there!” said another individual come to watch and make commentary. 

I stepped away from the commotion and called my wife and explained the situation. I would be home late, not sure when. She should put the kids to bed without me. She was loving and understanding with just the right amount of forced pity to make me feel like she really desperately needed me but would somehow find the will to carry on until I could return, triumphantly, like Odysseus. Only I'd been gone a week. 

By the time I could drink the coffee without burning my tongue it no longer tasted good to me so I tossed it the trash and returned to the runaway cart truck only to find a whole swarm of vested workers trying desperately to corral the mechanical beast. One man, buoyed by dumb male bravado and testosterone no doubt, tried to mount the loose craft and was unceremoniously flung from it just like the bags had been. Us window watchers gasped—as we should. But he got up and brushed himself off with a sheepish grin. By now all the luggage had been tossed from the truck and moved aside. The circles continued. Suddenly I lost complete interest in the event. “What did it matter, really, to my situation,” I thought. I gave the two kids my leftover Euros and went to find the meal voucher line. What else was there to do? I would go in circles just like the truck until I wore myself out and fell asleep. “Maybe in my dreams I’ll be somebody exemplary,” I thought.