Photography: Son, You’re in Texas 6/20/24

Last Wednesday night, I had a difficult time sleeping. I was keyed up and a bit nervous about my then-upcoming flights to Wichita, KS: I was worried about oversleeping the five alarms I set up on my iPhone 14 Pro. I was traveling with a North Face duffel bag that was a slight bit oversized and I was worried that I’d be forced to check the bag — and with a short layover, having my clothes be delayed or lost.

While I’ve flown a little bit. I hadn’t had a connecting flight before. And when I looked up directions from the gate my initial flight from LaGuardia Airport to Dallas-Fort Worth International to my gate for second light to Dwight D. Eisenhower, Wichita Airport, I was made even more nervous: There was a lengthy walk — with backpack and heavy duffel bag — to the DFW’s Sky Link. Then, according to the American Airlines, I had a 11 minute ride to my terminal. My layover was a little over an hour.

When I got to LGA, I was pleasantly surprised that no one bothered me about the duffel bag. An employee looked at me, then at the bag and said “That’s carry on. You’re fine.” I was even more surprised when the LGA to DFW run was not only on time, but landed a few minutes early.

So once I land at DFW, I have to make a walk towards an escalator, go up that escalator and get on the Sky Link to Terminal E, Gate 30. For some reason, the gates aren’t in alphabetical order — it’s something like A, B, C, C19-40 or something like that, E, E19-30, D. Someone make that make sense! You get off at E19-30 and it’s down the escalator, walk down a long pathway, up an escalator and around the corner.

I figured out where my gate was. Conveniently, it was at the very end of this terminal. You can’t possibly miss it! And I have enough time to get a preflight beer — okay, beer number 3. There’s a bar near the gate. So that works. I mean, what else is there to do, besides anxiously wait for a plane, right?

I went back to the bar and order an IPA. I’m also texting various friends and family members, letting them know that I got to Dallas and am waiting for the second flight. An enormous, bearded white guy, who seemingly comes out of nowhere, walks around and behind me. The bartender says hello and asks him what he’s having.

“I’m not sure. Am I drinking? Or am I DRINKING?” The white guy answers.

“Well, that depends on how long your flight is,” I retort.

White guy responds “I’m going to Roswell. But the thing is that I have a 3-hour wait.” He then tells the bartender that he’d like a Crown Royal with soda.

“Single or double?” The bartender asks.

“Double,” White guy replies. It sounds like my man is DRINKING. He then asks the bartender about their food menu.

The bartender informs him that it wasn’t much. Basically, personal pizzas, chips and salsa and plain hot dogs. He adds “We got sushi in the cooler in them ack, if you’re into that.”

The white guy and me briefly seem to look at each other, with expressions that read “Airport sushi — in Dallas? What the fuck?” “That seems like a bad idea, doesn’t it?” I say.

We share a boisterous laugh. And then the white guy says, “Yeah that does seem like a bad idea.” He then orders the pizza.

There’s a lesson in that. Always say no to airport sushi, y’all.