I photos of times gone by airport terminals are portrayed as space age structures filled with smartly dressed people going to or returning from exotic destinations. I sometimes think of this as I stand in a long line waiting my turn to punch a series of numbers into a machine which will print my boarding pass. I than swipe my credit card and experience the privilege of paying $25 dollars to check my bag praying that it gets to the correct plane and is returned to me unmolested. I than join a crowd resembling a scene from a biblical epic advertised as featuring a "cast of thousands". I remove a third of my clothing and after being poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed am allowed to proceed to my gate, walking down a stretch of stained industrial carpeting. We then wait to board sitting in chairs that seem to have been designed by practitioners of the medieval art of torture.
Aboard the plane I am seated next to someone staring at their phone or laptop, buds in their ears, determined not to speak to me or acknowledge my existence even though our knees are no more than one inch apart for several hours. Surly people walk by offering passengers a minute amount of a selection of soft drinks. A day old sandwich can be purchased at the cost of a 4 course meal.
As we land I stand up only to realize that I have lost all feeling in my legs.
God it's good to be home..........
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