Airport Bars
Accompanied by Philly Pale Ale, a nondescript football game, and Billy Joel
I kind of love airport bars. They’re kind of sacred, really. A gathering of strangers on solid ground before they scatter and take off for whatever destination lies ahead.
I’m drinking out of a plastic glass. It has some beer that’s overly adorned in locality. I don’t remember the name exactly but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Philly Pale Ale: Go Birds Edition or something wacky like that. It tastes like beer and feels like the more appropriate choice than wine or whatever else. I’m honestly not even sure they sell wine.
Every airport bar is kind of the same, but also very distinct. They usually have the local football game on and try to sprinkle in some local charm that comes on a little too strong. This particular one is playing You’re So Vain by Carly Simon. Next they’ll play Fleetwood Mac or Billy Joel. The volume is always a little too low.
It’s also the only bar in the world I’d go sit at alone and not feel like a loser. Also, I was wrong — they’re playing Satisfaction by the Stones now.
The Philly airport in particular always makes me wish I was more of a Philadelphian. It might be the only airport in the world that feels appropriately adorned in the local grub and grime. Eagles and Phillies branded shit everywhere. Delco accents as far as the ear can hear. Winter jackets and scarves. Lame and outdated carpeting. Bathroom stalls never designed for luggage. A lacking amount of outlets for charging. The Philly airport makes me nostalgic for an earlier time. I want a pager and a lame ass boyfriend who spends all day watching football and drinking beer.
Being miserable in an East Coast place like Pennsylvania is just better, I hypothesize. The weather can be so dreary and bleh that you have no reason to look on the bright side or be chipper. You just gotta ride out the winter, and find your ways of coping.
My Life by Billy Joel just came on. Called it.
Got a call from an old friend we'd used to be real close
Said he couldn't go on the American way
Closed the shop, sold the house, bought a ticket to the west coast
Now he gives them a stand-up routine in L.A.
The bartender is singing along. The patrons on either side of me are leaving already and it makes me kind of bummed. Not that I was talking to them, but maybe I would’ve.
I don't need you to worry for me 'cause I'm alright
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home
I don't care what you say anymore this is my life
Go ahead with your own life leave me alone
I never said you had to offer me a second chance
I never said I was a victim of circumstance
I still belong
Don't get me wrong
And you can speak your mind
But not on my time
This is the first time I really listened to the lyrics of the song before.
They will tell you you can't sleep alone in a strange place
Then they'll tell you can't sleep with somebody else
Ah but sooner or later you sleep in your own space
Either way it's O.K. you wake up with yourself
I don’t know, but the lyrics are really hitting the spot. I’ve done the whole “moving to a new city for no reason, knowing no one” thing already. It’s not that cool after all. I mean, it’s worked out for me, but it’s a lot of effort and work. I don’t know if I want to do it again. Anyway, it’s made me really good at being cool with myself.
I don't need you to worry for me 'cause I'm alright
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home
I don't care what you say anymore this is my life
I don’t know if I’ll move back home to PA after this Spain stunt or not. Or if I’ll go back to LA. I just know I want to go home. But I’m not sure which place is home.
Next is Ventura Highway by America. It makes me even more nostalgic for LA. I would listen to it on road trips out to the desert from the city. Or sometimes while I sit in traffic on the 101. I would put it on to make me feel like I was “on the road” and not just in traffic on my commute home after a long day.
I hate to say “I used to” about LA things. It feels weird, because I feel like I still do those things. But I don’t. But if I was back there again, I would.
It’s crazy the amount of reflecting you can do at an airport bar. You can sit at the bar and type on your iPhone Notes app as long as you want, sipping your beer and waiting for your American Airlines flight to start boarding. You can think about where you’re going, where you’re leaving, where you wish you were going. But then you switch back to reality and you’re at none of those places— you’re at a weird liminal space called the airport bar.
Sent from my iPhone via the Notes App :)
