Good To See You

Last night after making my way past the obligatory hundred-yard duty-free dash after airport security I sat in the United Lounge in Sao Paulo’s Guarulhos airport.  Not a bad spread, I laid out some chicken stew and cheese cubes they had and poured myself a glass of their complementary white wine and prepared to have a meal before my flight, in anticipation of the “chicken or the beef” choice I’d soon be presented with in United Economy.  But a message on my phone reminded me that it was morning time back home and there was a scheduled call on.  I took it and talked between bites.

I inquired when I checked in and they informed me that the seat next to mine was still free, which boded for a descent evening.  Upon reaching my seat a young father was straddled into the two seats next to mine.  His daughter sitting in the aisle over on the farthest seat. I got settled and asked if they were a part of two or three?  He confirmed that they were two and said something about making sure his daughter got to bed alright.  I didn’t make much of it though I might have.  I remember what it was like to travel with little kids and feel overly protective. 

Later his wife swapped seats with him and the space properly opened up.  During the night the little girl, who slept quite soundly, made her way into the space.  But I was fine and could use the space down below easily enough to extend my leg reach which is always the most important thing.  When we were landing I told the lady how lucky she was to have such a well behaved daughter.  And I noticed that as soon as I opened my mouth the husband shot me a glance, half expecting me to somehow be complaining.

Newark New Jersey.  Good to see you.  Americans now, everywhere.  They seem a lot like Brazilians than do the population at my ultimate destination.  The guys who are to take the luggage for transfer are gruff.  But then I hear them speak Creole and ask “Aye Ay See An?”  Now they smile and confirm they are from Haiti.  I feel safer about my luggage transfer having ingratiated myself with these fellas.  A new lounge.  This is a some sort of portable lounge they’ve thrown up and it sadly doesn’t offer much beyond snack bars and M&Ms.  I give my mom a ring.  She’s only a two hour drive away and it feels as though I’m almost home and ought to.   Dad didn’t pick up.  But a client is soon pestering me and I switch to reckon with it.  Before my next, daunting thirteen-hour flight I start a conversation with charming young lady who is serving up the complementary drinks about a shop she hopes to start one day down in Mississippi.  It’s America, so throw something in her tip jar for the free glass of Champaign she pours me.

Friday, 3/29/19