So when the pandemic began its painfully slow decline and travel began to become safer for an aging man with chronic lung disease the idea of travel began to take up more of my attention. This coincided neatly with an invitation to fly to Minnesota to attend my great grandaughter's dance recital.
Now, in the Before Times I was a frequent flyer. I routinely qualified for TSA Pre Check. But without a recent history of flights that wasn't likely to be a available. I was resigned to the usual drudgery of opaque ticket kiosk interfaces, slightly grim TSA officers scrutinizing my ID, the invasive electromagnetism of luggage imaging and body scanners, the truly awful airport coffee, the worse Bloody Marys.
So I was unprepared for the new reality. Evidently the year+ of minimal business gave the airline industry time to refine their processes.The check in kiosk offered a clean, simple interface. The TSA agent smiled as she compared my briefly unmasked face to my ID behind her Plexiglas shields, the scanner operators were cracking jokes about SHOE BOMBERS, for crying out loud, and the airport Bloody Mary, reliably overpriced, was actually pretty decent. A far less Soviet vibe to the whole affair.
Still, the airports seemed weirdly empty, even for a Thursday morning. I've never been able to hear the echo of my own footsteps in an airport before. The loudest sounds came from immigrant housekeeping staff holding animated phone calls via Bluetooth as they sanitized departure lounge furniture.
It was a beautiful day to fly. It felt like my inner Cave Dweller was emerging from the dim recesses into the dawn. It felt, if I remember the sensation rightly, like optimism.
