There are only a few things I can think of that are worse than being at an airport, waiting to fly home, late on a Friday afternoon. Sitting through an elementary school band concert comes to mind. So does a visit to the emergency room. But, the airport is right up there.
Yesterday afternoon, I found myself at the Hartford airport. I'd been in Hartford since Wednesday morning and I was ready to get home after a couple of days of sitting through meetings, eating too much, and sleeping poorly. We ended up winding up our last meeting about one hour earlier than expected. I was booked on a 6:20PM but I knew there was an earlier flight leaving for Baltimore at 4:35PM. So, I hurried to the airport, scampered through security, and headed to Gate 4 to see if I could switch onto the earlier flight. "I can put you on stand-by," the gate agent told me. Somewhat dejectedly, I told her "OK" and resigned myself to hanging out at the airport for two-and-one-half hours.
Even though I'd been gone for a couple days, I was pretty caught up on work. I had a half-read New Yorker with me but I didn't want to start on that quite yet. So, I didn't really have much to do. I settled into a chair across from Gate 4 and waited to see if my name would get called.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion coming from the next gate. It was music. It sounded like the type of music you hear from a merry-go-round. It was kind of loud and definitely annoying. I tried to block it out, figuring it would go away. But, it didn't. Instead, it just got louder. "What is that?" I asked myself. I could see other travelers around me looking up and asking themselves the same thing. The music was awful -- and it wasn't stopping. Finally, I leaned forward and peered to the right to see what it was.
Just one gate over, a full-fledged party had broken out. There were three guys playing accordions. About two dozen of their traveling companions were dancing. The dancers were of all ages. There were a couple kids under ten. There were teen-agers. I saw people my age. Finally, there were senior citizens. The dancing wasn't spontaneous -- they were like a dance troupe, with everything perfectly choreographed. "I think they're Gypsies," I said to myself.
I waited for the song to end. After a minute or two it did. "Thank God," I thought. Unfortunately, before that thought had even faded away, the next song started. Have you ever listened to an entire song played by an accordion? Try it. Then, to really test yourself, listen to another one. I'm not sure you can do it. In fact, rather than playing thrash metal at Guantanamo, we probably should have just gone with accordion music. That's how bad it is.
After song two ended, song three started right up. Do you remember claves from your elementary school music class? Well, this number featured claves accompanying the accordions. Claves are fun when you're eight years old and you have them in your hands. When you're forty-six, tired, sitting at Bradley International Airport, and somebody else has the claves, they're not nearly as much fun. Trust me. "Please, Jesus," I prayed. "I didn't win the Powerball. You have to get me on this next flight."
We were now in the middle of song five. The 4:35PM flight was boarding. I kept praying. Then, my little miracle happened. My name was called! "Thank you," I shouted (literally). I got on the plane, took my middle seat happily, and opened my New Yorker. Good-bye, Hartford. I'll see you again on Tuesday.
