I sit at Gate C25 all the way as the ass end of Lambert International Airport. Nobody is speaking English. It’s 9 am, and all the English speaking people are too tired to talk. The man in the cowboy hat and bright teal shirt rubs his eyes. They probably hurt from the glare off his shirt; it’s the brightest thing in this end of the terminal. The Chinese man sitting a seat away from me chatters away on the phone. It sounds like he’s reading from a bowl of alphabet soup, or maybe alphabet cereal since its still early. The tall blonde woman in high heels speaks Spanish over her phone then sits down. Everyone stops talking for a little while. English words finally break the silence as they crackle over the intercom.
Flight number 464 going to Newark International Air-
“Shiiit,” I say to myself. I know what he’s going to say before he finishes. My flight has been delayed. Again.
As I wait, I see the pilots boarding. One of them has a sugar-free Monster energy drink. The same kind of sugar-free Monster energy drink I have at my summer job when I feel like a zombie and have to unload a truck. I hope he’s not drinking it because he feels that way. He’s about to fly me 40,000 feet up in the air and over a 1,000 miles away, and I don’t like the idea of my safety being fueled 250 milligrams of taurine.