My times spent at airports have added up this year. I went to Disney in January for the Dopey Challenge, notably flying direct from Calgary, after the polar vortex hit. In February, I went to Milwaukee, April Quebec, June was Albuququue. And now I am sitting in Chicago. No, I am not heading to Milwaukee again. That’d make sense, since I am an hour away. I am en route to Calgary, though originally I was flying from Orlando to Houston to Calgary…but weather got on the way.

I am now delayed 2+ hours from “change up” flight to Chicago to Calgary flight, and in the end, I will be ending up in Calgary *hopefully* only 4 hours after my original arrival time of 9:00 pm. 1:00 am arrival and then a two hour drive to Lethbridge. Lovely.

So I am sitting at this airport restaurant bar in Concourse B—-Stefani’s Tuscany Cafe. And since these delays stress me out (note the post from January when I broke down in Calgary..read it here!…and I already lipped my poor husband off in an email today. Sorry Dan. Love you) I decided I needed to write this…

Who You See at an Airport Bar

Here are my unedited, sequential notes I took while sitting here in Concourse B…because why the hell not?

—Guy next to me-business suit. Hunched over. Glued to phone. A sip of bud light left. Said nothing I was an inconvenience sliding in to the last spot at bar next to him. Is basically mute, when spoken to takes five seconds to respond. We had a little convo about the B gates, and he told me he knows Calgary is expensive. Now standing away. Checking phone. Pretending to watch golf. He hates me.

—Woman who ordered a Stella with bedazzled phone case and shopping bags. Trying to look younger than she is. And I have no clue where she disappeared too.

—Lady ordered side salad after asking about sides but also a meal and wine. She looks like she doesn’t really want to be traveling but making most of it. She had one drink and was out. A quick hit and run.

—Guy over at the island bar facing the concourse who came up for another Bacardi coke. Sounds like he is here all the time. Knows bartender by name. Introducing himself to the guy next to I’m. He’s drunk.

—Guy who looks familiar but I know I don’t know. Self explanatory. Who are you?

—Lady in the pink 3/4 length polo that looks like it is from American Eagle 2000. She’s been drinking red wine the whole time and has her sunglasses unnecessarily on top of her head (it’s 8:17 pm and we be indoors!). She looks like she’s fun though. Wish a spot had been next to her when I sat. Fuck. I’m stuck here next to Mr. No Personality.

—Old man with a hat. Totally exists not just while driving the Midwestern highways but at the bar. Can’t tell what he’s drinking by his mouth has been agape the whole time.

—Foreign man with Russian accent who came up with half a Diet Coke bottle and ordered a Captain on the Rocks. Will he mix it in his bottle???….then his lady came, sat at the bar and clearly said NO to not having a drink. Bartender is not amused with them. Quickly cashed out. Not wasting his time.

—Bud light and shock top pseudo-businessmen young guns. Can’t really tell what they are talking about. But they ordered beer and don’t seem to know how to drink a beer. I can see them from afar staring at their phones, sorta people watching, but then back to phones.

—Now the guy who did not like me cashed out and left. I can now move my bar seat over now from the corner to actually see the tv! I have an empty stool next to me! Normal looking younger 20 girl came and ordered a Belvedere Water (had to settle with Grey Goose) but didn’t sit by me. Seriously—-do I smell? I can’t. I reapplied deodorant and brushed my teeth again after landing here. Wtf?

—Four European guys who wandered past this bar, double takedm and were taken back. Not by me, but by Stella Artois. All four sidled up to the bar, taking up the stools between me and Mrs. Belvedere. One guy could say “Four Stella’s. Glasses” and that was enough for their beverages.

—And then there is me-wearing the soffee shorts, untied Mizuno shoes, a sports bra with the straps hanging out at my neck, slim fit disney tee. Worn off makeup, crusted curly hair. Staring at my iPad typing furiously. I look up…everyone is forking food in their mouths, drinking, and on devices. No one is having a conversation. I am one of them. But…I think it’s safe to say I’m the gem of this Chicago O’Hare airport bar.