Ode to SEATAC

Welcome Tim. (List view). Click here to filter results immediately. Show me my recent searches. Show me the WorldPerks. Switch off the personal devices. 1-L, 1-R. It’s already time for the crosschecking of doors.

Twelve minutes spent quietly bonding with my fellow patrons over a mild sense of anticipatory restlessness. Cellular conversations occur, some affectionate, some curt. When the logjam starts moving, when it is my turn to shuffle out into the aisle, I will be courteous yet assertive. We will see if I am able to quickly spot and gracefully free my carry-on from the overhead bin.

A brief rush of cold air and a narrow glimpse of the night, it’s a blast of dry warmth that greets me. Two otherwise unaffected faces with matching pairs of collared white shirts, short sleeve burgundy v-necks and navy blue dickies are rendered enigmatic, draped in long shadows by overhead lighting installed just a foot or two above. These two are standing out of the way, hands idly wrapped around the vertical, perpetually oily stainless bar of respective horizontally collapsed wheelchairs. The dress code has apparently placed one’s choice of shoes at liberty (within the inevitable confines of appropriateness): Loafers here; there, two permanently creased mesh, leather and dingy, flamboyantly sculpted foam chariots resting flatly, patiently on the unforgiving dense spring of worn blue-gray industrial carpet.

No windows in this dim tunnel, just shadowy accordion walls on the side, those lights overhead, and an unhurried jean and fleece-clad (cat enthusiast?) steady walker immediately in front. Stepping into a bright cavernous echo chamber of white noise and indoor public place white smell, stepping between streams of light evening foot traffic, I have just now received my final sincere service smile of the day, supplemented perhaps with the uplift of a shift about to end.

At the rubber-bounded conclusion of carpeting, I am re-introduced to the solid squeak of linoleum laid over cement. Left or right? There is no need to consult internationally legible signage when the business casual advance team has already begun to confidently stride towards the promise of baggage. I catch a pungent buttery whiff of Auntie Anne’s.