After being at the airport for less than an hour, I began to ask myself why I was going halfway across the world to see different kinds of people and open my mind when I could just sit by the terminal entrances and people watch all the crazies that come through.
For some reason at O’Hare, there aren’t a ton of restaurants to go to before having to go to security, and by not a ton of restaurants I mean one mini-Starbucks with three tiny roundtables and chairs, all right next to baggage claim. Thus, what was supposed to be an emotional, last meal shared by my mom and I turned into iced lattes and half a chocolate chip cookie each (not that I’m complaining).
Our neighbors were, and I wish I was joking or even exaggerating just a little bit, a Mexican couple composed of an elderly gentleman with approximately three teeth and a much younger woman wearing a cowboy hat who also happened to be a midget — sidenote, my mom wants me to describe him as a “swarthy South American pirate” and her as if Rosie O’Donnell and a Mexican oompah loompah had a baby. Anyone who is offended by those descriptions should probably stop reading my blog now.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that although the Starbucks provided two more than adequate steel chairs, the woman was sitting on her boyfriend’s (I’m going to assume here) lap and feeding him. I dare anyone to try to have a deep conversation and/or heartfelt farewell when this is going on only a foot and a half away from them. The only consolation I had was that I heard the woman ask the man literally the ONLY phrase that I know in Spanish – “Donde esta el bano?”, which, for you ill-educated out there, means, “Where is the bathroom?”. How romantic.