Maybe there wasn’t as much to this as I am making it out to be. Maybe it was just a quirk of happen stance; although, it did start out with a strange erg haunting me most of the day... the erg of wanting to go to the airport - Houston’s Intercontinental Airport to be exact.
I like the airport. I especially like going to the airport. I envelope myself in the air of expectancy felt when I’m there; the trill of going someplace far off or waiting for someone special – even if it doesn’t particularly pertain to me. When my laptop was working reliably I would go to IAH after work and, as if waiting for someone, would sit in the terminal and write. I found it to be a good inspirational place for my writing.
It’s been a while since I have had the opportunity - not that I am sad about it. I just figured I’ve moved on from that part of my life. I hadn’t even thought about going to the airport in over a year. But that day, out of the blue, I wanted to go. And it had nothing to do with writing. (Well… at least that’s what I thought at first. But now look what I’m doing… writing about my trip to the airport – go figure.) So, without even really knowing why, I went to the airport after work. As I have found out in my time on this earth, sometimes that’s the best reason for doing anything. Don’t’ you think?
Not really knowing what to do after arriving, I just went to my favorite terminal,” A”, and tried to sit close to the spot where I use to write. But naturally, some people just can’t leave anything alone and apparently airport interior decorating people falls into that category. They moved everything around - even that stupid ten foot tall plastic cow in the NASA space suit. (Sorry… that is something I can’t explain with words; you will just have to see it to believe it.)
It was a long day at work and a long drive in five o’clock traffic, so once I walked into Terminal A my physical demeanor was starting to droop a bit. I quickly found a convenient seat and just sat. It was nice I have to say, being at the airport again, even though I didn’t have a clue as to why I was there. As I looked around I thought things were kind of slow for a Friday evening. A few people where milling about, as I… another hand full was headed off in all direction, rushing to get to someplace or another.
There was the couple off to my left, standing in the middle of four huge suitcases, as if they had just built a fort around themselves in order to withstand the siege of a possible layover. The Lady seemed to be in the process of venting all the frustrations of the travel day. The gentleman, facing her, stood patiently, absorbing the flair up knowing full well she meant no ill will towards him. Where he was supposed to vent God only knows. Watching, I just sat and thought to myself, “Yep… been there, done that. If he can just hold out until they get to their destination I am sure she will more than make it up to him.”
Seated to the right, in the bank of chairs about twenty feet directly in front of me, set up in a mirror image of mine, was a young Hispanic Senorita… Oops, I’ve seem to have mixed up my Spanish. Let’s see, that should be Senora as there was a baby stroller in front of her. The two were in the middle of that dreaded parent/toddler-in-a-stroller game of “pick up”. Every so often the munchkin would fling something out of the stroller. Dutifully, Mom would get up, retrieve the object and put it back in the stroller. Probably not too fond of the game, Mamasita didn’t seem to mind because she repeated the procedure over and over without any scolding.
It was obvious by her attire that traveling was not on the agenda for that evening. Nice white pants, a fetching multi colored top and sandals with four inch heels made up her wardrobe. (I never have understood those sandals with giant heels. But then, if I were five foot one instead of six feet tall I would probably have a different perspective of the matter.) I figured this meant she was waiting for the bambino’s Papa to return from an important trip away from the family. As a pacifier went flying out of the stroller toward the middle of the terminal I thought to myself, “Yep, in this case, it is going to be the gentleman that has some making up to do.
All in all, it was a nice pleasant atmosphere in which to relax and enjoy breaking the monotony of day after day life in the corporate world.
I must have sat for thirty or forty minutes just enjoying not having a reason for being there. Then another strange erg to get up came over me. So I did. Not knowing exactly where to go I just meandered around. In the midst of my meandering I was struck with the thought that, in the post 9/11 world, just meandering around a US airport, if you have no reason for being there, is probably not a very wise thing to do. Especially when your last name ends with a “j” and you are sporting a full black beard. I know, I know; this is probably just a little eccentric phobia of mine - as every one waiting for a flight is just meandering around. But that is how my mind likes to play with me. So I go with it – just part of the fun as I see it. I then walked, meaningfully, towards the escalator that leads down to the Tram’s linking all the different terminals at IAH.
(So… what is it that you credit these kinds of strange ergs too? Everyone has them. But then, I guess most people just never pay any attention to theirs. My Angels talking to me is what I chalk it up to. You know, Guardian Angels. At least that’s what the artist side of me likes to think. Say!!! You don’t suppose that, sometimes, our Guardian Angels get together amongst themselves and plan out things for their charges (us) in advance. Let’s say like; if a Lady from Nigeria, Africa was flying to Lubbock, Texas and her Angels knew the stop in Houston was going to be a total nightmare; they would get on the Angel Phone and call one of their co-harts in Houston to see if they had a charge, simple minded enough, to be led to the airport, intercept the Lady and give her a helping hand.)
Sorry, this must be my mind playing with me again. Scenarios like this are just for the movies and way too outlandish to ever happen in the real world. Let’s just forget I even mentioned it.)
I figured making one full circle of the trams route would be enough to settle my erg and I could go home. Anyway, it is a nice relaxing way to spend a few minutes… if you have no idea why you’re at the airport.
Houston’s International Airport tram runs under ground, so the view is not so great. But, with the gentle swaying of the cars as the tram scurries from one terminal to another the ride is pleasant enough. And observing the people in the midst of their different journeys does give me pause to be thankful for just how good life can really be.
There was the flight crew, dressed in their dark blue uniforms in the car ahead of me, joking with one another and just simply relaxing after a long day in the air.
The young casually dressed Asian man, whose demeanor was anything but casual as he came running up to tram car at the last stop. Just as it was about to take off, with eyes clinched shut, arms and shoulders tense; he thrust his hand between the doors as they were just inches from closing. Seeing that he didn’t lose any fingers and the door once again opened, he let out a sigh of relief and entered. Sitting down on the opposite side of the car, he anxiously looked around as he kept checking the time on his wrist watch.
Seated next to me was a Lady with long straight blond hair who was blankly staring out the window on her side of the tram… as the little girl sitting in her lap, an exact miniature of her mother, cautiously peered at me - as if looking at the creature who lived in the deep dark cave she was now traveling through. I find the full black beard does that to some children.
A, B C, MARRIOT and D/E were the different stops along the way of the trams journey; as we approached each, over the loud speaker, a male voice called out the name of the terminal in English followed by a female voice in Spanish. As the travelers entered and exited I found it necessary to get off the tram before completing the full circle of terminals. My mind did come up with some kind of a reason at the time but it escapes me now. Anyway, I chose Terminals D/E because the last time I was there the entrance to the terminals from the tram was not complete. So I thought it would be nice to check out the completed version.
After climbing up two levels of stairs, I was on the escalator going up to Terminal E - and there he was… with starched white shirt, pressed navy blue pants and the shiniest black shoes I have ever seen. Adorned with epaulets and badges and all kinds of pouches attached to his belt, the security guard was standing directly over the escalator as it came up from the floor below. I immediately assumed an air of meaningful meandering. Once at the top of the escalator and on the floor of Terminal E itself, I wandered straight over to the board listing all of the arriving flights. At that point I realized I was in the part of Terminal E where the flights from South America were deplaning. “Oh good, well maybe I won’t look too out of the ordinary here.” After standing for a few minutes, looking as if I was checking on the arrival time of a flight, I turned around, lingered for a second and then made my way back to the escalator.
I must have had my meaningful meandering routine down to a tee because I made it safely to the escalator and past the security guard without incident. Once I entered the stairwell going down I thought, “Hey, wait a minute… that was Terminal E. Where is Terminal D.?” Then, as I entered the level right above the tram I noticed a long hallway off to my right. It’s sloped down quite a ways and after about fifty yards it seemed to come to a dead end. I did see someone struggling with something rather large at the other end. But, without really thinking, I just figured it must be some sort of maintenance area. Then I notice the sign above the doorway saying Terminal D.
“This can’t be right”, I thought. With it’s off white walls, grayish carpet on the floor and indirect lighting the hallway was full of light but didn’t really look inviting. And it sure didn’t look like it led to another terminal. The thought once again surfaced in my mind about not really knowing why I was their; so I figured why not check it out.
I slowly started walking down the hallway. After about twenty yards I realized the person at the other end was a traveler. That gave me reason to think that I was on the right tract to finding Terminal D. In a bluish matching skirt and blouse that went from chin to ankles the traveler coming toward me looked very prim and proper. Her black hair fixed in a multitude of tight rolls lined up front to back on her head.
By that time I was also able to see that what she was struggling with was her luggage... one large suitcase and a smaller one - although the smaller one did appear to be swollen like a tick stuck to a cow in a springtime pasture. Both suitcases had those handles that popped out one end, thus enabling you to pull it along using the two small wheels on the other end. The peculiar thing here was that she would drag one suitcase up the sloped hallway ten feet, go back to get the other one and drag it ten feet past the first. Then repeat the process.
It was during the third repetition when I passed her going the other way. Not wanting to stare, I just glanced up and noticed an almost look of bewilderment on her face. She seemed all alone, struggling with the luggage and lost in the underbelly of Houston’s International Airport
Terminals D & E are the international terminals for IAH, so, by her attire, I figured she wasn’t American. And I know from personal experience that being lost in an international airport outside of your home country can be a harrowing experience. I’ve also been there and done that. So as I passed the downhill suitcase I turned and asked, “Would you like some help? I don’t mind and have plenty of time.” I didn’t mention the fact that I had plenty of time because I had no real reason for being there. Just in case she might think I was some kind of creep hanging out at the airport. Like the little girl on the tram probably thought as she was seated in her mothers lap.
After I asked the question the Lady stopped next to the uphill suitcase and faced me. Not saying anything she just looked down at the ground. I could tell she was uncomfortable as we were the only people in the long hallway. Not hearing her say no, I took it upon myself to grab the little swollen suitcase and slowly walk up the hallway towards her. But as I grabbed the handle and picked up the suitcase it felt like it grabbed back and almost pulled me to the ground. The Lady then smiled and said, “Sorry, The bag is very heavy because it’s full of books that I am taking to my sister’s house.” In seeing the smile I felt it was OK to proceed with my offer of help.
Hearing a bit of a European/British accent I asked where was she coming from. The Lady said she had flown in from the UK on her way to Lubbock for a visit with her sister. As I went for the suitcase again I asked, “So, you’re from the UK?” Using the handle this time to pull the little suitcase along on its wheels, unfortunately, I found that pulling the suitcase while standing straight was not working. The bloated little bag was too off center and wobbled from one wheel to the other as I pulled. With the wobbling, I felt like I was pulling a duck along instead of a suitcase. She then replied, “Actually, I’m from Nigeria. But I was born in the UK”. I then tried leaning over while pulling the suitcase. With the handle lower I found the suitcase did not wobble at all. But, my bend over posture and short little steps I had to take made me feet like a duck waddling along.
As I waddled towards the Lady I asked, “What terminal is your next flight leaving from?” She said, “Terminal C”. To which I replied, “Well, I have plenty of time and would be happy to show you to the elevator and tram that will get you there.” A big look of relief came across the Lady’s face as she said, “I was really lost and worried about making my next flight. You are an Angel who has been sent to help me.” I then said, “Well now, I don’t think a full beard is part of the Angel dress code. But I am more than happy to be able to offer some assistance.”
The elevator was at the end of the hallway I had just come through and we were there in no time. Not wanting to seem pushy or forward I planned on just giving the Lady instructions and then let her proceed on her own. As we waited for the elevator I started explaining how to get to Terminal C... the look of bewilderment return to her face. Seeing that; I said, “Look, I have plenty of time. If you don’t mind I will go to Terminal C with you.”
Once again the bewilderment was replaced with relief as she said, “Thank you. I would appreciate that very much.” I then smiled because I really did want to go with her to Terminal C - seeing as how it gave me a reason for being at the airport. So, as the doors of the elevator opened and, now being accustomed to the weight; I picked up both suitcases off the ground and said follow me.
The ride in the tram was relatively quiet. But once we entered Terminal C proper it was like all heck broke loose. Apparently several big flights were scheduled to leave within the hour, people were hurrying all over the place and the noise level was daunting. Now feeling like the Lady was a charge of my own I became almost protective of her. I told her, “They won’t let me come through security with you so let’s see if we can find a luggage cart.” She went over to where the carts where lined up, pulled on one but you had to pay to get it to come loose.
The whole while I stood my ground beside her luggage… after hearing all of the announcements about not leaving unattended luggage, I was sure if the security cameras saw a bearded man leaving luggage unattended they would pounce on it immediately. And…I was also sure the security cameras were watching me the whole time.
When I saw the Lady leave the lined up carts to look for an abandoned one, I realized she probably couldn’t afford that kind of price for just a luggage cart - and I sympathized with her. As she made her way back from a fruitless search I took off toward the lined up carts and said to myself, “Please, Please… let me have enough money in my wallet.” I looked down at the three dollar price for the carts and saw that I had a five dollar bill in my wallet. I muttered, “Thank you Angels.” With cart in tow I raced over to the Lady and exclaimed, “Look what I found.” I am sure she saw what I had done but didn’t say anything as I approached - which was good because, as I saw it, there was nothing to be said about it.
By now we were chatting like good friends and I didn’t want to say goodbye. As I was loading her baggage on the cart I figured the feeling was mutual because she kept talking about all the things she had packed for her sister to see. Once the bags were secure I realized it was time. So I just tried to make it simple. I reached out my hand and said, “My name is Jim, what’s yours.” A big smile came on her face as she shyly placed her hand in mine and exclaimed, “My name is Bim”. She then spelled it out for me, B-I-M, recognizing the similarity with my name J-I-M.
As I heard that, with this stranger’s hand from a far off land in mine, the thought raced through my mind, “WOW… BIM… she must be my long lost sister from Nigeria I never new about.” But then, I felt like that thought was on the same par as the one where every move I made was being watched by airport security. So I didn’t say anything.
I told my new friend, “Well, Bim... the next time you see someone in a Nigerian airport who looks like they are from Texas and lost, I hope you take the time to help them.” In her European/British accent she gratefully said, “I will be sure to do that and thank you again.” In my Texas/American accent and looking into her eyes I replied, “It’s been my pleasure Miss Bim”. After a slight bow, I released her hand, turned and made my way to the elevators without looking back - even though, as the charge my Angels sent me to help, I wanted to guide her all the way to the very steps of the airplane she was to leave on.
Now that I look back on the evening; I think how strange the whole day was; starting with the erg to do something out of the ordinary; actually following up on it; ending with meeting and being able to assist a very nice person from a far off land. Yes, that was strange wasn’t it? Yet, at the same time really wonderful too.
So just remember; if you are ever lost in the underbelly of Houston’s Intercontinental Airport and a kindly enough gentlemen, sporting a full beard, approaches to see if he can be of assistance. Just ask him, “What letter does your last name end with?” If he says “j”, don’t worry… It’s Me. And I will be more than happy to help.
Jim
