We were out of town for six days last week. Two of those days were spent in airports and on planes. Long days but interesting, to be sure. The remaining days were spent in Florida with friends, and a grand time was had by all.
But back to the airports and planes--On travel days like this, we spend hours getting to the airport, checking in, then waiting at the gate area. More time on the airplane itself. We had to connect both coming and going, once in Atlanta and Baltimore on the return trip. On those two busy days, we were around a myriad number of people. Some were polite, some very friendly, a few rather rude.
The writer in me looked at each of those people wondering what kind of story they had. Where had they come from? Where were they going? What kind of life did they lead? Who was important to them? Were they happy, depressed, angry, eager, anxious, or just plain numb?
About ten men wearing Green Bay Packers shirts, jackets and caps were on our plane headed to Kansas City. Surely they were going to the Chefs-Packers game. But why were they getting on the plane in Baltimore? I would have loved to know the story.
A young man using crutches, clutching a tiny plastic bag such as you'd get in a store when shopping, sat across from me on one plane. Sadness showed in his eyes, and he held tightly to that small bag throughout the flight. What was his story? I wondered during the entire flight.
A lovely young woman with a beautiful toddler daughter caught my eye in one airport. Both mother and child were beautifully dressed. Then I noticed the mother had a tattoo of a snake that wrapped around her arm from forearm to shoulder. Definitely a story there. But what was it?
The point is that there are thousands of stories around us when we travel. Engage a fellow traveler in conversation, and you'll learn some of his/her story. Some of what you hear can be something to put into a fiction story. Other things could be the start of a personal essay.
We flew Southwest on this trip, and nearly every employee we encountered was friendly, helpful, polite and seemed to be enjoying what they did for a living. Granted, the airlines all want travelers to have a good experience so they'll choose that airline again sometime. Even so, I felt a genuine sense of satisfaction among the employees we encountered. Every one of them had a story. I wish I could have heard those stories. I'm sure many would be most interesting.
Travel essays usually involve the destination spot you headed for. But why not write a personal essay on the actual travel experience, whether it be by bus, train, plane, ship or your own car.
Do you have a family story to write that involves the time someone traveled by one of the methods above?
The next time you travel, use your writer's eye and observe the people who work on the train or plane or whatever conveyance it might be. Look carefully at your fellow travelers. The stories are there. It's up to you to find them.
I really like this essay. Yes, airports are a great place to observe people and create stories--fictional or not. Hitchhiking in the 1970s was a memorable experience for me. There was the Cadillac driver who reached under his front seat, pulled out a gun and said to me, "I carry this in case anyone gives me trouble." (Note: I gave him no trouble.) I remember hitchhiking to the Panama Canal and having a tractor t-bone us at an intersection in Honduras. And then, the many hitchhikers I picked up, always trusting them to be appreciative of the ride. I never kept a gun under the seat to protect me.
ReplyDeleteAh Jim, you are a great storyteller. That's why I enjoy your blog so much. You have the 'writer's eye' and find stories around you quite easily.
DeleteThanks, Nancy. After I pushed "publish," I realized my hitchhiking was mostly done in the later 1960s, not early 70s. Those were the days. Tomorrow's blog is about an armed robbery in Lamont, Oklahoma that took place in 1924. In Wichita, I had the pleasure of meeting the son of Bessie Olson, the bank teller.
ReplyDeleteI figure you could have a few more blogs out of your recent trip. What was in the passenger's plastic bag?
Which reminds me of a gal I was admiring when I was single and on an overloaded bus in Guatemala,Central America. She was a few seats ahead of me. I wondered, How can we meet? Just then it became obvious, the bus driver had lost control of the bus and people were yelling, staring out the bus's front windshield. Speeding down the steep mountain road, braking was impossible until we hit the dirt mound created to stop runaway vehicles. With a jolt, we crashed and thanked god for still being alive. Fortunately, no one was injured. The bus was damaged; another eventually picked us up. Meanwhile, I got to meet the gal I was admiring. Later, in town, over pie, we had something to talk about.