The closest thing to a perfect one-stop-shop for an alien on a modern human-collecting expedition would be an international airport. In fact, if an alien landed at an international airport probably no one would even notice. The rumor mill has it that this has happened a few times before but the aliens were denied entry because of some mix up with their visas. That’s why I love airports; they are the best human zoos and causes of confusion on the planet.
An airport is a place where people of all nationalities, languages, races, colors, ages, waist sizes, genetic defects, gender disorders, and incomplete immigration forms, converge on the lost-luggage counter and take turns strangling the attendants. For just the cost of parking you can be senselessly entertained at any airport on any lazy Sunday afternoon. It is what I like, and what I do, that’s why I am called an airportee.
To be honest, the airport has more of the appearance of a circus than a zoo but I prefer to use zoo to describe the airport, and circus to describe the government. On that Sunday afternoon, with the temperature high enough to melt the coldest stares a woman could produce, I smiled to myself as insane people always do. There were the South American girls who turned faded blue jeans into a work of sculptured art, and the couple who walked into the immigration lounge with no less than 36 boxes of KFC. There was the French-looking girl with the see-through top and the drooling guys loudly thinking in silence “look at me.” The see-through girl probably had this thought running through her head “Ils sont gentils. Vous les aimez?” and I probably had this one “Oui, oui je les aime beaucoup!”
I have also been observing airhostesses over the years and noticed they are becoming more functional and less attractive. I suppose airlines have discovered that pretty girls are very useful but a girl who can push a food cart up and down a narrow aisle for five hours, and row a life raft full of people from the middle of the ocean to the nearest land mass is a rare find. I think it was George Carlin who first pointed out airhostesses are a much maligned bunch because of the fact they continuously walk in and out of cockpits. I think that gave the public the wrong impression as to their job function and it begged an answer to the question “What is really a cockpit?” Since there is an increase in the amount of female commercial pilots the name “cockpit” is to be changed but I have no idea as to what, or even why.
As a trained airport observer I have to say that the finest samples of female human life congregate there and not at Club Zen as previously thought. At the airport the skirts are as short, the jeans are as tight and the tops as transparent as those of Zen. The only difference is at the airport the people are more varied, the drinks are cheaper and there is no music, but at those prices you can’t complain.
The airport could be my home away from home but security had my cot towed away, and burnt.
