Fun With Airports

Fun with airports

Seventeen months later, do I look the part of a Nashvillian at the airport? With a mandolin gig bag to accompany my computer sack, the evidence mounts all the time.

With a twice-monthly lesson due upon my return, I can’t skip any chance to practice. Besides, the idea of breaking it out for a few fiddle tunes on a Rocky Mountain hike sounds so appealing. But I will practice. Inspiration will strike, or I’ll desperately need a respite from healthcare around 6 p.m. tomorrow.

Lightning observations:
A guy with the world’s largest Louis Vitton bag? That’s so g …. Nevermind. Sometimes my mastery of the obvious goes too far.

Teetotalers have taken over the terminal. Nashville International has finally banned to-go cups of beer within the concourses. I used that perk every time I’ve flown out of Music City this year, and now, the temperance movement has struck again.

We’re inching close to cell phones in the last cellular-free zone. The flight attendants had to hover over a few geniuses unwilling to end their calls as we taxied onto the runway.

No frills, no problem: I literally cannot remember the last time I looked at flying on any airline but Southwest. With flights to Los Angeles and now Denver turning up 30 minutes early, no fees for checked baggage and airline executives clever enough to buy their fuel at a fixed rate to preserve those low fares, why would I?