A couple weekends ago Swede and I traveled to Atlanta to visit some friends, because it just wouldn’t be spring if I didn’t spend a month of incredible weekends being not at home. Swede checked us in the night before our flight, but Southwest wouldn’t let him print boarding passes, and to make a long story short (too late?), the airline gave us each a fistful of cash to take the 1 pm flight rather than the 9 am flight as planned.
Now, I’ve sung the praises of BWI airport, but let me tell you something about airports you don’t know: If there is one in which you need to kill four hours, BWI has nothing on Midway. It’s hard to describe, but let’s just say that the fact that they give you free Starburst on Concourse A really just makes it skyrocket to the top of my airport list. (That and the fact that it’s 15 minutes from my house, but that’s a whole other carryon.) And Swede and I, as we waited for the kind Southwest agents to issue our fistfuls of cash, made the executive decision that we’d hit up Miller’s Pub for a cocktail while we waited. For four hours.
“Listen, if I end up on that show about drunk and disorderly airline passengers, I’m blaming you,” I warned one of the ticket agents.
“Me? Don’t blame me, blame her,” she said, and pointed to her colleague.
“Okay, I can do that.”
ANYWAY, the point is that we sat at the Airport Miller’s Pub for a bit, and then at the Airport Reilly’s Daughter, and then at the Airport Halsted Tap, in an Unintentional Midway Pub Crawl, and I did some writing and Swede did some reading. He just happened to have, quite possibly, the most appropriate book tucked in his bag.
I’m not sure it’s like a full-on joy, but for this nervous flier, let me tell you that a few pops made that flight a whole lot nicer.