The Realist doesn't even have to be traveling on business, honestly. He has entered an airport and as such time has no meaning to me, I mean him, anymore.
"Do not mistake any of this for healthy coping skills. They are dead inside, and what is dead simply cannot be killed, not even by a ground stop at DFW."
Just come up and say hello the next time we're stuck in the same airport, Scott.
I'm the Realist. I have my work laptop and two books, I can wait just as long as you, malfunctioning airline algorithm.
In June I was leaving clients' annual meetings in Sonoma, taking a 9:45 red-eye to Boston for a wedding on Cape Ann. It's hard for me to sleep on planes, so I bought a Zquil and primed with 2 glasses of red wine at 7:30. I left the bar at 8:45 to check out the gate and the departure was now 10:30; went to the restroom, came back and it was suddenly 2:45. And I was honestly shocked at how much nothing I felt. A pack of 6 Realists sized up the passengers and formed a little colony: pooling snacks, talking to keep each other sane, watching each others bags when we went to the restroom.
We finally boarded. I settled into my seat, downed my Zquil, turned on a 76ers podcast, and conked out. I came to as the hour-long show was ending, and heard the drone of the engine. I opened the shade to see where we were; we were still at the gate. "I guess I live at SFO now" was my only thought as I fell back to sleep. The next time I awoke we were mercifully over the Midwest.
I'm a subclass of The Optimist: the Overenthusiastic One. Clearly just as happy to be in an airport on hour 4 of the delay as he was in hour 1. Looks out at the airplanes on the tarmac with a sense of wonder that makes you think it might be his first time in an airport at all, but he's packed tidily and only occasionally drops things out of this bag, apologizing profusely each time. You worried slightly for him when the Wild Card's ferret got loose and found his extensive snack stash, but within 5 minutes he's blissfully staring out the window again, muttering to himself about what the ground crew is doing now.
I'm definitely the Realist, with a soupçon of Wild Card. "I'm here, and I'm just gonna be here, and quietly drink this yard of beer I was given for some reason. Are there more yards of beer? For me, perhaps."
100% Realist, with a pinch of ex-service industry "can you believe these fools?" commiseration with the gate agent. And that's why I have a ranked listing of "if here with this much time then do this" options all over ATL. May as well make the best of it, y'know?
I’m definitely a Realist, but with a touch of either Protagonist or Optimist depending on which airport I’m in.
I used to live right by DFW and flew in and out of it all the time for work travel. Delays meant “I still get to charge this as travel time whether I’m on my work laptop or not, I don’t want to be on this plane to Orlando full of kids who are hopped up on sugar (and, judging by their behavior, possibly cocaine), and there’s a Pappadeaux right here in the terminal. I’m gonna go eat some shrimp, catch y’all later.”
I now live in Charlotte, and delays at CLT get the reaction of “ugh, the nearest places to buy coffee that’s not in a bottle or a beer are all twenty gates away and the moving sidewalks aren’t working,” with the possible addition of “if our gate changes, it better still be in this terminal” if the plane isn’t already at the gate.
After having spent ~8 hours in the Athens airport on Saturday, I'm definitely in the Realist camp. I'm gonna be here for a while, let's kill the time as best as possible.
I am the Wild Card, only with luggage and without the ferret. I think I blew off a flight once because I was engrossed in an article in a magazine somebody had left on the chair next to me.
If I'm at the airport on route to vacation? Then whatever category "guy who gets very drunk even if it's 6 am" falls under. If I'm at the airport on the way home from vacation? The exact same thing.
I am The Sleeper (no, I'm not the Wild Card, even though ACB mentioned a ferret, screw you guys).
I once was heading to KC from Columbus and amazingly got a direct flight. I slept for about an hour at the gate, woke up, boarded, and went back to sleep on the plane. I woke up about an hour-ish later, and we were on the ground, so I got all ready to deboard the plane....
Except that there was some mechanical thing they were trying to figure out, and we'd never left CMH.
Weird, didn't show up in my inbox.
It hasn't shown up in almost anyone's inbox (including mine) this morning. I don't know what's going on, and I'm pretty mad at Substack about it.
ffs.
Update: I'm pretty sure it's my own stupid fault for sleepily clicking the wrong setting this morning. Those responsible have been sacked, and so on.
a moose bit my sister once.
moose bites kan be pretti nasti
The Realist doesn't even have to be traveling on business, honestly. He has entered an airport and as such time has no meaning to me, I mean him, anymore.
"Do not mistake any of this for healthy coping skills. They are dead inside, and what is dead simply cannot be killed, not even by a ground stop at DFW."
Just come up and say hello the next time we're stuck in the same airport, Scott.
I was going to say the same thing except at ORD
I'm the Realist. I have my work laptop and two books, I can wait just as long as you, malfunctioning airline algorithm.
In June I was leaving clients' annual meetings in Sonoma, taking a 9:45 red-eye to Boston for a wedding on Cape Ann. It's hard for me to sleep on planes, so I bought a Zquil and primed with 2 glasses of red wine at 7:30. I left the bar at 8:45 to check out the gate and the departure was now 10:30; went to the restroom, came back and it was suddenly 2:45. And I was honestly shocked at how much nothing I felt. A pack of 6 Realists sized up the passengers and formed a little colony: pooling snacks, talking to keep each other sane, watching each others bags when we went to the restroom.
We finally boarded. I settled into my seat, downed my Zquil, turned on a 76ers podcast, and conked out. I came to as the hour-long show was ending, and heard the drone of the engine. I opened the shade to see where we were; we were still at the gate. "I guess I live at SFO now" was my only thought as I fell back to sleep. The next time I awoke we were mercifully over the Midwest.
6. the person who really doesn't want to see his family and is angling to get bumped and take the travel credits.
I'm a subclass of The Optimist: the Overenthusiastic One. Clearly just as happy to be in an airport on hour 4 of the delay as he was in hour 1. Looks out at the airplanes on the tarmac with a sense of wonder that makes you think it might be his first time in an airport at all, but he's packed tidily and only occasionally drops things out of this bag, apologizing profusely each time. You worried slightly for him when the Wild Card's ferret got loose and found his extensive snack stash, but within 5 minutes he's blissfully staring out the window again, muttering to himself about what the ground crew is doing now.
I'm definitely the Realist, with a soupçon of Wild Card. "I'm here, and I'm just gonna be here, and quietly drink this yard of beer I was given for some reason. Are there more yards of beer? For me, perhaps."
maybe the sleeper ate 500mg of gummy hoping to sync up his loss of consciousness with wheels up?
[completely naive] I would think sugary snacks would keep you awake!
100% Realist, with a pinch of ex-service industry "can you believe these fools?" commiseration with the gate agent. And that's why I have a ranked listing of "if here with this much time then do this" options all over ATL. May as well make the best of it, y'know?
I’m definitely a Realist, but with a touch of either Protagonist or Optimist depending on which airport I’m in.
I used to live right by DFW and flew in and out of it all the time for work travel. Delays meant “I still get to charge this as travel time whether I’m on my work laptop or not, I don’t want to be on this plane to Orlando full of kids who are hopped up on sugar (and, judging by their behavior, possibly cocaine), and there’s a Pappadeaux right here in the terminal. I’m gonna go eat some shrimp, catch y’all later.”
I now live in Charlotte, and delays at CLT get the reaction of “ugh, the nearest places to buy coffee that’s not in a bottle or a beer are all twenty gates away and the moving sidewalks aren’t working,” with the possible addition of “if our gate changes, it better still be in this terminal” if the plane isn’t already at the gate.
After having spent ~8 hours in the Athens airport on Saturday, I'm definitely in the Realist camp. I'm gonna be here for a while, let's kill the time as best as possible.
Honestly you should've just driven the 90 minutes to Atlanta
GET HIM
GET HIS ASS
There's a history museum of artifacts they dug up in construction for the new airport.
https://www.aia.gr/traveler/airport-information/art-and-culture/permanent-exhibitions
I am the Wild Card, only with luggage and without the ferret. I think I blew off a flight once because I was engrossed in an article in a magazine somebody had left on the chair next to me.
If I'm at the airport on route to vacation? Then whatever category "guy who gets very drunk even if it's 6 am" falls under. If I'm at the airport on the way home from vacation? The exact same thing.
I am The Sleeper (no, I'm not the Wild Card, even though ACB mentioned a ferret, screw you guys).
I once was heading to KC from Columbus and amazingly got a direct flight. I slept for about an hour at the gate, woke up, boarded, and went back to sleep on the plane. I woke up about an hour-ish later, and we were on the ground, so I got all ready to deboard the plane....
Except that there was some mechanical thing they were trying to figure out, and we'd never left CMH.