international arrivals lobby

I picked up one of my girlfriends from the airport yesterday and I had the pleasure of watching the international arrivals lobby during the beginning of the Christmas Holiday season.

It was beautiful.

Large families with handmade, cardboard welcome-home signs, nervous parents checking the flight screens every fifteen minutes, European men embracing their friends with cheek kisses, and my favorite:

the people who can’t wait for their loved ones to walk down the pathway so they run to greet them and they stop right there in the middle of all the traffic of people and hug and hug and cause a huge backup and don’t care.

I love it when emotions make people do funny things.

It’s really quite entertaining to watch people come through the doors because you’ve been waiting in the lobby with the same people for the past hour or so and you try to predict who’s with who.

It’s also fun to watch the people who come off the planes and are met with limo drivers and you try to guess if they’re rich or famous– or both.

But the people that are my favorite to watch are the singles who don’t have anyone to pick them up. It’s weird because after a few touching family reunions, you get in the habit of watching the people who come off the plane and anticipate their family rushing to meet them. So when a person gets off the plane with no one to greet them, everyone’s watching that person. And they know all eyes are on them. So they squint a bit, look into the crowds, and try to keep a cool stride. I like watching social discomfort.

One weird thing that happens when you’re picking someone up from the airport and you’re waiting for them for awhile, you start second guessing whether you know exactly what they look like. What will they be wearing? What will their hair look like? Is that her? Oh wait, no, that girl’s not even the same race. How about that girl? Nope, not her.

And when the person you’re picking up finally comes out, it’s such a great moment. It’s like spotting your luggage in baggage claim– but better, of course, because it’s your person, and not your suitcase.

You know what I mean.

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