How Airports Turn People Into Foot-Cuddlers, OR En Route to Guinea

I think airports are as close to the “state of nature” as most of us will ever get. 

Anonymity does something to people. It makes them feel comfortable wearing sweatpants and crocs somewhere other than the privacy of their own homes. It encourages them to drink a $10 airport gin and tonic at 8 am. But most importantly, or at least most notably to me, 

anonymity seems to encourage EVERYONE TO STARE AT EVERYONE ELSE. 

What would normally be a quick glance at the semi-interesting-looking young lady next to you becomes a prolonged gazing that can only be characterized as lecherous. Why? Because at airports, people don't care if you think they are creepy. Also, they are probably bored.

At least in normal public areas you can usually attribute being the victim of shameless staring to something positive about yourself. Don't get me wrong- I don't like being stared at. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but at least when a group of 17-yr-old boys gawk I can occasionally rationalize it as “Yep. I still got it.”

At airports, this isn't the case. You don't got it. You probably never had it. The person staring at you in an airport is most likely trying to figure out what you'd look like if they rearranged your facial features or how many mini jawbreakers they could possibly fit into one of your volcanic pores.

Luckily, I found the cure to staring-induced airport irritation, or SIAI. (Worst.Acronym.Ever.)

Meditation Rooms, which are basically just chapels, are next to bars, the best airport resource. As a remarkably nonreligious person, I've always felt a bit excluded from the benefits of organized believing and today I decided it was about time I took my slice from the beneficial pie of divine devotion.

So I meditated in the meditation room in Newark Airport. Okay, that's a lie. I stretched, though and it was awesome.

Unfortunately, my zen state of mind was quickly disrupted by the nice middle aged man sitting next to me on the plane who violated one of the most fundamental rules of passenger etiquette. The man CUDDLED MY FEET. He not only put his foot in MY foot space, but he caressed my foot with his. I was footsied. In a not-so-subtle hint, I stomped on his offending foot and made an angry face at the back of the seat in front of me. Success!

Now I'm in the Brussels Airport waiting for my flight to Guinea! It's amazing how quickly a coffee, some cookies, and a definite lack of foot cuddling can raise my spirits. Next stop, Conakry!*

*obviously this isn't updated. In Guinea! Will post about that this weekend! I miss everyone :)