Editors note: This was typed about 18 hours before its post date. I did not have an internet connection in JFK, so you get this post-by-proxy
I am among the undead.
For the past 24 hours I’ve been floating between gates 20 and 4 of the Delta wing at JFK International. I feel neither awake nor asleep. My diet has consisted of food court-esque meals washed down with what can only be described as New York’s obsessive beverage: Snapple. I thought no one ever bought that stuff, but apparently you can’t go 5 feet without running into a Snapple vending machine. I must say the Mango Madness is always refreshing…
I can’t really say that I’m feeling depressed, tired, bored, or a neapolitan ice cream mix of all three (depression being the vanilla layer). I feel….nothing. The kind of nothing that spending over 11 hours in an airport can do to a soul. I’ve walked every square inch of this terminal, I’ve had to scour all gates for an easy-to-reach electrical outlet (hint: Gate 11 is the way to go), I have seen almost every ethnicity pass by me as I watched season 4 of NBC’s hit medical-comedy Scrubs. I’ve even resisted the urge to destroy the so-called “business professional” who won’t stop yakking on his cell phone sister about life how bad things have been since his hairstylist moved to London.
…anyhoo…
My flight leaves in 3 hours. I haven’t found a single internet connection since I’ve arrived at this god forsaken airport.