Barbara J. Hamby

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What Were the Wright Brothers Thinking?

Four hours in any airport is at least a couple of hours too long. Granted, the people watching is non pareil, but the general ambiance is not swell. While reading a mystery novel, I was able to observe some of the folks impatiently milling around the waiting area near the gate where a plane would eventually show up to take us to Portland.

A chic-looking young woman sat down next to me and began to tell me about her life. She had surprised her daughter by showing up at the hospital in San Diego shortly after her third grandchild (first grandson) was born. She was talking on her cell phone, pretending to still be in Portland, when she entered her daughter’s room. Her heavy accent prompted my question about her nationality. She laughed, “What accent?” She is a graphic designer who moved here from Venezuela.

An older fellow on the other side of the young grandma struck up a conversation with her. He told her he was in the automobile business--"one of those dreaded car salesmen.” He went on to say he had retired, but went back to work when he got bored. He and a friend had flown to San Diego to play golf. Apparently they hadn’t read the weather forecasts. Water polo might have worked. His Seattle plane left before our Portland chariot arrived.

When our plane had not appeared by 9:00 p.m., a young blonde woman on my left complained that she had to be at work at 6:45 a.m. the next day. When we finally boarded the plane, I noticed she was in the first class section. I also noticed the first class section didn’t look very special to me.

In spite of the distractions, I was able to read about 200 pages of the book in the airport and on the plane. I finished it while I was between naps the next day.