Airport friends

I was 21 when I went on my very first plane ride. It was Syracuse to Seattle via Jet Blue. As a kid with lots of siblings and an entire extended family living in one state, flying was completely out of the question. Vacations meant piling in the bench-front American-made car and heading to the beach. I always had a window seat in the back and was the resident pillow for my sleepy siblings. Someone had to stay awake and TALK TO YOUR FATHER SO HE DOESN'T DRIVE OFF THE ROAD AND KILL US ALL!!

Once, just once, my brother flew on a vacation sponsored by his friend's parents. They went to the Grand Canyon. The rest of us were so amazed, like he was turning into a unicorn in front of our eyes.

Fast forward 2 decades and now I don't just fly, I have flight routines. I park in the same places. I use the same queues. I eat the same organic tofu burritos (PHL) and sandwiches/tortas (MDW/ORD). I know where the filtered water bottle fillers are. I have favorite bathroom stalls.

Going along with being a kid who never flew is being a kid who learned that pinching pennies is the only way of life. Can I start you off with anything to drink? No thank you. Water is fine.

For my adult, employed, childless self, water is not fine.

Behold my airport best friends:

Malbec, Spicy Tanqueray Bloody Mary, and House Margarita (on the rocks with salt).

I imagine my (future) adult, employed, child-toting self will just order double.