I could care less about your vector, Victor.

I originally started this post last week from the airport, but I was sans internet connection so I'm just getting around to actually finishing it and sharing it with the world! Er, my three readers.

Fact: The airport is one of my favorite places on earth. I love to fly. I would travel somewhere every week if my job (and salary) allowed me to do so. I especially love super busy airports. Lucky me that the "world's busiest" is also "my" airport!

As I write this, it is 9:55 a.m. I've been here since 7:15. I knew that something was amiss when I settled in at my assigned gate with my freshly brewed Seattle's Best and blueberry muffin and instead of Chicago, the destination posted was Valdosta. [Who flies to Valdosta?!?] It turned out that my flight was cancelled. I do not love cancellations, but that is a matter absolutely beyond my control. [Someone's life lessons in control are paying off, aren't they?]

Now that I've had a couple of extra hours here, I've had the opportunity to make and note a few observations:
When going through security with an infant in a car seat, please don't kick said infant carrier to move it forward. I'm not a parent, but my gut instinct tells me to kick the bag and carry the baby instead of vice versa.

When using a public restroom, please close and lock the stall door, m'am. My eyes have seen things this morning they were not prepared to see. Ever.

When flights are cancelled, the nicer you are to the cranky ticket agent, the nicer she will become and the harder she will try to get you on an earlier flight.

One should not spray rose scented perfumey stuff one moment and then proceed to cough all over fellow travelers sitting in close proximity to you when waiting at the gate.

Is there a place in the airport that sells fried salmon patties? What is that woman across from me eating and why does it smell like fried salmon patties?!?! Isn't 10:06 a.m. a wee bit early to be eating fried salmon patties? I wish that whatever this food that she is consuming would be banned by the TSA.

I have no idea how all of these people are going to fit on the plane. And why did the guy on the speaker just say that we are going to Pensacola? I'm far too overdressed for a trip to the beach.

All of these important and nicely dressed business folks who are looking at their phones with furrowed eyebrows and furiously typing on their touchscreen phones? I suspect that it's not business, but a mean game of Angry Birds or Words With Friends.

A fun game that I like to play when waiting is to try to guess where people are going based on what they are wearing. Something makes me think that the guy in plaid shorts and flip flops will not be on my flight.

I'm kind of torn when it comes to airport chit-chat. Like, when people make general statements to no one in particular, but I obviously hear them, am I obligated to respond? I vote no.

There's a man on my flight who looks just like Ted Kennedy. Except I know it's not him because well, Ted has gone to glory and this gentlemen has the last name of Briggs and needs to make a reservation for December 12, 13, and 14. So I've heard him shout between curse words at least eleventy-dozen times. I hope he's not my seat row buddy, but I would choose him over Miss Salmon Patty, I believe. [Fun fact: The ghost of Ted Kennedy, Mr. Briggs, was my seat row buddy!]

After one cancelled flight, and three more delays and sitting on the plane for 30 minutes, we are finally on our way. Phones, laptops, electronics are all powered down. Oh, what's that you say, Mr. Pilot? We've traveled no less than the distance of a football field, and we're going to sit here so it's ok to turn on our cellular devices? Got it.

You know how some pilots are all business and some pilots need either a dog or a therapist based on the amount of chatter that comes from the cockpit? The pilot on today's flight was chatty. He proudly informed us when we flew over Kentucky and into southern Indiana. I admit, that I don't mind when they point out landmarks or give a little update so I can get an idea of where we are in relation to where we're going. However, when we were about 60 miles out, Mr. Delta, announces over the intercom that we've been put into a holding pattern. He then starts all this talk about our vector and how the tower is flipping the runway because the wind has changed so they have to change the direction of the incoming and outgoing flights. So, that's all well and good and really cool if you think about it. BUT as I looked outside of my window, there was nothing to see but fog. I know, I know, their instruments see for them, but what happens if a pilot was checking his Facebook status or texting while flying or changing the music on his iPod and missed the whole announcement about rerouting all traffic in one little circle of a holding pattern? I would have regretted the will power I exercised to resist eating a half-dozen Krystal burgers after spending what amounted to half a work day in the airport, for one thing. What screams "perfect last meal" better than a bag of teensy tiny fake hamburgers? Obviously that didn't happen and these people are pros at this kind of stuff, but I couldn't help but to giggle just a little bit when he was talking because I felt a little bit like I was living the Seinfeld stand up routine that he does about pilots.

My return flight was equally as entertaining. I sat next to an airplane mechanic. As in, when I boarded the plane and sat down beside him, he was pouring buckets of sweat and eating his sandwich like he was due back down there to tighten one more bolt before take off. He was super tall and reminded me very much of my dad (minus the fact that dad always swore he would never fly and this man has to fly in order to get to work some days). We had a very interesting and educational conversation about the frequency in which the tires on a plane are changed as well as the distance allowed between planes when in flight. Any guesses? I focused on that information instead of his statement about how he had been working non-stop without any sleep for a day and a half. I think that when I make my recommendation to the TSA about banning airport foods that are noxious to the olfactory nerves, I will also recommend that the people responsible for fixing the metal capsules that shoot us through the air at fast rates of speed get a full eight hours of sleep each night.