Airport Drama

It happened in the Perth Airport at the wee hours of 2 January 2014. I remember the date as I got an unexpected text from a guy I was seeing back in London (more about that in another post).

Rookie travelling mistake cost me my original flight from Melbourne to Perth on 1 January 2014. I was supposed to catch a flight at 15:55 so I went to the airport 1 hour earlier just to read on the information board that my intended flight had just departed. I curse the Australian time change. I ended up paying extra AUD80 to get the next flight at 22:30. At that point in time, I just paid without much fuss. It was my own blunder.

I arrived at Perth Airport past midnight, hoping to catch the shuttle to the city. Unfortunately, the first shuttle will only be operating at 6am or so. That’s how I ended up spending the night at the airport.

I looked around the sparse arrival hall, scanning for power source, desperate to charge my electronics. It’s funny how my survival instinct focused on the effort to recharge my phone and ipad instead of finding a safe place to set camp. 

Target acquired. 

There were a set of power sockets near the exit of the arrival hall. I dragged a bench, ready to be transformed into my make-shift bed, placing it right underneath the sockets. I plugged in the charger and laid on the bench with my too-short pashmina across my chest. The flimsy blow-up pillow stacked onto my dirty rucksack filled with tshirts was perfect. I was so proud of my hobo self. 

As time passed by, I just accepted the fact that the airport lights were too harsh and I am just too self-conscious to sleep in public. I covered my face with my thin pashmina, earphones on and tried to sleep to the retro sound of We Can’t Stop cover by Postmodern Jukebox. I gave up eventually and decided reading would be a good idea. Whilst engrossed in my now beaten-down copy of The Tiger’s Wife, I noticed the crowd started to swell in front of the exit of the arrival hall. I guess, a flight had just landed.  I just laid there on the bench, watching one by one passenger go through the exit with trolleys laden with huge luggage. Maybe it was a long haul flight from somewhere far, far away. Some had their family and friends waiting, some left by themselves.

One man caught my eyes.

He was about 6’0 with full head of curly hair, mildly good-looking face, dressed in white tshirt and khakis, standing in the crowd with a bouquet of flowers. I remember the look on his face vividly because I thought to myself “I want someone to wait for my return that way”. His eyes were full of excitement and he had this boyish smile across his face. Looking back, I might have stared too hard at him and could pass off as a creepy hobo in the airport. I started the game “Who Is The Waiting Man Waiting For?”, trying to guess who would run into The Waiting Man’s arm.

More people walked through the exit and the crowd thinned by the minute. The Waiting Man kept extending his neck, trying to catch a glance into the arrival hall, wondering if his significant other was going to appear anytime soon. 1 hour later, I have stopped playing the guessing game and started to feel bad for The Waiting Man. Still, he had the same look plastered on his face. Still patient, still excited, still hoping.

1.5 hours later, he’s the only one standing in front of the exit. I could tell worry and anxiety took the place of excitement and hope. He was holding the bouquet in one hand, flopped towards the ground. His shoulders tense and his neck craned, desperate to peer into the arrival hall. The airline crews exited the arrival hall and I was crossing my fingers for The Walking Man harder than ever.

Just as I started to lose my faith to witness a sweet reunion, emerged an exhausted young mother with a sleeping baby strapped in a carrier across her chest, struggling to push a stroller in one hand and pulling a luggage with another. The Waiting Man walked towards her immediately, while holding the bouquet behind him. He looked like a deflated balloon 1 second ago and now someone had just pumped too much helium into it. 

For a split second when their eyes met across the room, I could see how much they have missed each other. The Waiting Man presented The Young Mom with the bouquet and swear I could hear “ta-da!”. She flashed the biggest smile, gave him a peck on the lips, a huge hug and The Sleeping Baby was crushed between them. Kidding. Maybe mildly suffocated. The Waiting Man finally let The Young Mom go (and saved The Sleeping Baby) after what seemed like forever. He gave The Sleeping Baby a kiss on his/her forehead and took over the baby from the exhausted mom. I heard The Young Mom uttered the words “pooped”, “long queue” and “security check”. The Waiting Man listened to her intently while they walked together towards the exit of the airport to ride their fabulous horse into the sunset.