Thoughts on a Break Spent Wanting

Airports may have just overtaken sprawling suburbs as the most anti-pedestrian areas in the United States. I just spent a half an hour trying to walk 30 feet, and I would have simply jumped over the barrier between the road and the airport terminal, but there were plenty of uniformed men already looking my way due to my groggy appearance.

I had just gotten off a flight from Oakland to Orange County, a balmy 50 minute trot down the spine of California, and had collected my baggage when I figured that calling some one for a ride when no one in my family knew I had actually been gone in the first place might take a while and be associated with unneeded judgment and raised voices. So I decided to walk to my usually understanding aunt’s office which stood no more than a mile from where I landed.

It was 90 degrees outside. And I was greased from the humidity and hairspray that spread throughout the cabin during the “short” commute. And my bag was filled with a weeks worth of clothing, 2 pairs of size 15 shoes, and a decent amount of shame. Suffice to say I was dragging my heels a little bit and didn’t exactly look ready to take on the world. None the less, I walked through the doors, sneezed twice, and attempted to make my way to the street.

It seemed simple enough. And I thought to myself, “it’s right there, I can just walk over right?” Wow. Wrong. Wrong to say the least.

Directly in front of me was a 2 story parking complex with a series of stairwells going along the back wall. Each said “pedestrian walkway” so I assumed this was my lucky day and began to make my escape. Little did I know that these doors were to be used only in emergencies. Thinking better of it I turned around and passed by the exact same people I did on my way in. They looked scared. And I think one was making his way over to a police officer.

Anyways after this series of bullshit I walked around the inside track of road that people drive on when they’re waiting for people to get their bags. You know the one. The track that resembles a hot wheels set from limbo. A purgatory for the friend who offers to pick you up. A fitting punishment for all those family members who screwed you over all those times. The “re-entry to terminal” road is the ultimate equalizer in the transportation industry. I walked around it once, feeling kind of like a retarded Dorothy on an extremely hot yellow brick road. And no lions. Or monkeys for that matter.

No dice. I was still lost looking for the goddamn exit and things are getting heated in more ways than one. My lack of underwear made walking around in heat a ticking time bomb, and by the looks of things the police were looking me over twice now that I’ve made my way back and forth.

I finally decided that I’d go upstairs, and scope out my situation much like an army recon team, though considerably danger but probably more harassment. So I made my way upstairs, taking the air conditioned elevator instead of dragging my sorry body up the stairs and into the sun, and got a hold of my situation.
I got to the edge of the parking complex that became my own personal labyrinth and looked down to the promised land that is the Irvine Business center and contemplated jumping to the road below for a few moments. I decided that limping to my aunt’s office with a broken leg would just give rise to more questions than I felt like answering so I went to the bottom floor and started looking again.

Then, there it was. A door with red letters printed on the side with a stencil that read “Exit to McArthur”. I was saved. I picked up my bag, gave the cop who had been tailing me a nice, big middle finger, and made my way out. Away from the airport, and stinking like a wasted summer.