OK, let’s be frank. I hate airports. No, let me reword, that: I HATE airports.

Get me in the plane, start driving me around in the sky, no problem. Planes feel just like roller coasters, and my brain is convinced I’m just riding a big track I can’t see. As long as the air conditioning’s running I can handle them. (Thank you Northwest for teaching me to include that little caveat.)

But airports? They’re full of hundreds of people rushing about hoping to make flight that might be cancelled “just because”, connections are always late, and you never know you’re in the right spot. One too many hours standing at the wrong gate then running across airports has ruined the experience of sitting around on dirty uncomfortable furniture in freezing cold or stuffy hot seating areas breathing dry stale air that’s vaguely scented of jet fuel fumes. You know, in case that experience needed to be ruined.

And then there’s the security measures.

(This is really damned long, so here’s a cut.)
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