I don’t especially like airports. I don’t like the idea that if I’m late, then not only am I out hundreds of dollars but I’m out hundreds of dollars and still not where I want to be.

In fact, no one in an airport is where they want to be. Even at the other end of their flights, folks are still trying to get somewhere else – their hotels, relatives or homes.

I’ve had flights delayed and canceled. I’ve had my luggage sent to places that I don’t expect. I’ve gotten grief from the TSA nazis because their crappy equipment says that I’ve got something suspicious on me when I don’t.

If I can avoid flying, I usually will.

From the opening to Douglas Adams’ “The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul”:

“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression ‘As pretty as an airport.’

Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the only exception of this otherwise infallible rule), and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.”

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