Have MacBook, Will Travel.

J is coming back tonight from an extended weekend of “man time” in south Texas.  I sense it’s one of those don’t ask, don’t tell sorts of deals; all I know is it involved a heck of a lot of whiskey and some hefty shotguns. His flight is set to land at 8.10 in the p.m.  

It is my job, as super girlfriend, to pick him up.  I don’t know how I could have resisted, really.  That’s always my favorite part of coming home–in Seattle, my parents and/or my sisters are always there, and here, J always is.  There’s a real magic in coming out of the tunnel, around the corner, and yes, you see them, you’re here, you’ve finally arrived.  

That and I love airports.  It’s most certainly an odd affection, but I do–I just can’t get enough.  Reagan National is one of the stops on my way in and out of work each day, and I swear, it’s the light of my whole commute.  Well, except for Fridays, when the light of my commute is the wedding page in the Express.  But anyway.  Ahem.  Back on track. 

When I was still in college and had not yet sold my soul to law school, I seriously considered being a flight attendant.  Like, ridiculously seriously.  I sent away for the application materials for a training school and everything, and I believe I spent the better part of a summer–actually, the summer I studied for the LSAT, how ominous is that–watching some kind of flight attendant reality show/documentary series on TLC. I see them now, in their little uniforms, their buns, their perfectly packed wheelie bags and TSA-exempt IDs, and I can’t help but think that I’m missing out.  I would have gotten to travel! To see wild things and have great stories!  But no.  No, I had to go and be a lawyer, possibly the most boring career ever, one that comes (complimentary!) with a complete cementing of your feet to the ground and a quashing of all hopes related to uncharted world travel and/or youthful irresponsibility until you are approximately too freaking old to care.  Even if you bail on traditional practice, like me, and wile your days writing and analyzing–you can’t help but feel stuck.

I also think I would have made the most adorable flight attendant ever.  EVER.  Or, you know, at least up there in the top 10. 

They make me smile, watching them.  I can’t say that I regret my life’s course, but I think I’ll always wonder what it would have been like.  It seems I have plenty of time to ponder, as the whole two-hours-ahead thing? Only applicable to arrivals.  I know this.  Somewhere, in the frazzled mess that has been my day, I looked at my day planner and said, Hmm, pick up J at 8.10.  2 hours ahead means, 6.10!  Wow, I’ll have to jet right out of here!  So I did.  Here I am, in the terminal, just me and my laptop and the traveling world bustling about.  That’s the difference, you see.  All the fancy education in the world can’t change the fact that an air hostess would never have made such a ridiculous miscalculation.