In fashion-forward Europe, where couture is king, it is not surprising that I would gravitate first to clothing commentary. Today, some people dressed for style (from 8 inch high stiletto heels and skinny jeans, to thigh high boots and barely-there mini skirts; fashion is always a factor here in Barcelona). Other people (such as myself) dressed more for *coughs* ...."comfort." (Yes, I assure you, I strategically planned this outfit--fully aware that I am in the mecca of mod). These jeans, sneakers and tee shirt are going to serve me well, and allow me the luxury of breathing, thank you very much...(and yes, they also just may announce to the entire European airport: "American tourist! American tourist!" )
Closing the fashion file, I make my way up the terminal stairs, surveying the crowd en route. Those who seem in a hurry (or perhaps just were inspired by a secret, undying affection for aerobic idol Richard Simmons and his sweatin' to the Oldies self) took the steps. Those who opted for the escalator, I noted, could be grouped into two major categories:
1) Those who were in a hurry, yet too lazy to take matters completely into their own hands (or feet?) and actually climb...they rather more were half-a**ing is, while hemming and hawing at the second group...
2) Yes, group number two...those poor, innocent bystanders who alighted the escalator fully secure in (and resolved to maintain) their stationary states. The longer I watched this parody of Truman-show transit, I realized that there actually kind of was a non-verbal (yet understood) "protocol" to this processional. Basically, if you weren't going to move your rump, you had better GET RIGHT!
Once I recognized this pattern, I decided to post myself off to the side and "Charles Darwin" it for a bit. For a good twenty minutes (seriously), I entertained myself with the emotional outbursts of "inconvenienced" travelers as the rump-resters refused to stay right, or * heaven forbid * absent-mindedly allowed any portion of their person to remotely venture into the left-hand lane. *Hem!**Haw!**Hurrumph!**Wheeze!**WAIL!** (and, yes, there actually was at least one distinct and gutteral wail). Sound effects make everything better, do they not? ;)
Finally tearing myself away from this asthmatic display of ire, I headed to find something to drink. As I was standing in line at the airport cafe, I noticed a striking difference in how much people were spending. I saw parents buying children 10 Euro grilled cheese sandwiches that would most definitely remain half-eaten (or find their way, in short order, to their final resting places on the sticky terminal floor). Others (like myself) were notably (not necessarily by choice, mind you!) more "frugal" with their funds. As I got to the cashier and reached into my purse, raising, with trembling fingers, the whopping 5.95 Euros to meet her open fist...I willed myself to NOT calculate exactly how much that worked out to be in American dollars. Sheesh....She smiled with me (okay, maybe she was actually more like laughing AT me)...but she "got it." As in, she knew exactly that I was thinking: "This better be some DAMN GOOD Arizona Green Tea!"
And here I sit, waiting for my plane to board...and sipping my 6 Euro Arizona Green Tea. I am present...soaking it all in...surrounded by style, spendthrifts, and yes, sound effects~
2 comments:
remember that afternoon in Paris, after that 8 hour marathon hike around the city? Observing people with you was always fun. rump rester- I like that.
ahhhh
thre's a saying which goe like such:
when in rome do like the romans do
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