I will start this narrative as so many other narratives seem to start these days, with a nod towards September 11. While I could say something noble and true about how I felt that day, that is ground that has been covered better and with greater skill by others; instead I will simply add one small, selfish item to the list of grievances against Mohammed Atta, Osama bin Laden, et al: due to the devastating impact September 11 had on the airline industry, US Airways suspended their service from Charlotte to Paris, and I had to fly out of Philadelphia instead, and while I would have had a perfectly reasonable two-hour layover in Charlotte, I ended up with a six-hour layover in Philadelphia.
There are precisely two things that are charming about Philadelphia International Airport. The first is that there are lots of places selling Philly style pretzels for $0.75 each. The second is that Yuengling beer can be had at some of the airport bars. There is also a Staples. I assume someone did the market research that determined that American travelers need binder clips and printer cartridges at the airport. I, for one, am still scratching my head about an office supply store that can’t sell scissors.
Anyway, after meandering around the airport for six hours, when I got in line for the documentation check and the French woman who was looking at my passport indicated that she was favorably disposed toward people with Irish names, I was not quick on my feet enough to figure out a way to turn that into a first class upgrade. When I finally got on the plane, though, it looked like I was in luck. I was in a window seat on the right side of the plane, and the seat next to me was open. People kept on boarding the plane, but after a while the number of people getting on the plane slowed to a trickle, and it looked like I would have two seats to myself. Just when I was getting ready to spread out, a guy walked up the aisle, pushed his guitar into the overhead bin, and sat down.
The guy’s name was Andy, and he was as good a seatmate as anyone could hope for on a trans-Atlantic flight. Originally from the Philadelphia area, he was now studying in my home state of North Carolina (though somewhere along the way, I inexplicably became a Hoosier), and was heading to Paris for a month to do thesis work on Parisian street musicians. Importantly, he shared my intention to take full advantage of the free liquor on the plane. Two years before on a flight to London, I sat next to a student from the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago who I think had decided I was going to hell when I said I didn’t see that there was any problem with women being ministers, and mercifully retreated into disapproving silence when I ordered a gin and tonic. On the other hand, Andy, good man, flagged down the flight attendants to keep the liquor flowing, which, on the negative side, meant that I found Memento significantly more confusing than it already is.
On the positive side, Planet of the Apes had been running for only ten minutes before I fell asleep.
Copyright 2002 Brendan O'Sullivan-Hale