I stopped in my tracks, flabbergasted. What happened to Gate 19, the designated waiting area for my flight to St. Louis? An unfamiliar sight lay before me. I like to think I’m a flexible person, but this situation had me gobsmacked.
The room had totally changed since I last saw it. The rows of familiar chairs had been replaced by small booths equipped with iPads. People came and went, using the iPads or plugging in their own devices. And was that a server bringing a sandwich and drink to someone? Yes, it was.
Had a restaurant replaced the waiting area? If so, could I sit at a booth without ordering? I had no idea. And where could I sit? The booths were filled. My plans to settle in a chair as I usually did and read while I waited for my flight had fallen apart.
Realizing it was doing me no good to stand like a deer in headlights, I tried to think of my next step. Then, luckily, I spotted one remaining vestige of the old area—a row of chairs against the wall, filled, of course, with old people in sensible shoes. I can’t express how happy I was to see and find myself a seat among them.
The Minneapolis airport is busy and crowded as all airports are, but I usually feel confident in my ability to handle this world that’s so different from the quiet of northern Minnesota.
Twice a year, I plunge into this airport world when I visit my daughter and her family, a world that’s decades younger and light years away in life-style from mine. The flights to and from Duluth and Minneapolis are still “northern Minnesota,” but the flights to and from Minneapolis and St. Louis are filled with business travelers meaning a lot of people younger and more serious than I. But I’ve always felt savvy enough to cope.
Earlier this day, when I clambered off the Duluth flight in the far reaches of the airport where flights from small upper Midwest cities are located, I had felt confident.
Now as I sat, clutching my handbag, feeling like a refugee from the movie Fargo, I took a deep breath and looked around. I might not be a spring chicken but surely, I could cope with change. Couldn’t I?
I watched as travelers came and went to the booths. They used the iPads or plugged in their phones or other devices. Not everyone ordered food and drink. Then I spotted an old man (well probably my age) as he sat in a booth and chatted on his phone. My confidence returned. If that old geezer could handle this, so could I.
But for now, I was happy to stay snug and secure in a familiar seat and watch. Next time, I’d get a booth and charge my phone battery, even use the iPad (after some tutoring from my daughter.)
I was in the game again.
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