Denver United Concourse

I’m here in United Concourse at Gate B90. The Red Lion was a fine hotel. I can’t remember the last time I washed socks and underwear and shirt armpits in a hotel sink. Something I did a lot when I was younger. Getting old I’m missing out on these experiences. This morning the socks and underwear were still damp when I put them on. I’d not had a wake up call early enough to include hair dryer back up contingency. I just squished to the check out.
I let a beautiful young blond with a 1 ½ year old boy on her hip go ahead. No husband this time so I don’t think it counts as pure chivalry. The kid is precious. Happy, smiling, looking the world all over from his perfect perch. Every now and then he turns into his mother’s breasts buries his face and comes up giggling. Typically the woman isn’t as enthralled with this age old favourite male game. They sit beside me on the airport shuttle. Mother turns him around and he cries. She gives him keys. Settles him right down. They’re vehicle keys. He’s fingering and mouthing them with pure enchantment. Probably fantasizing his future vehicle. In his case, it could have anti gravity lift off and rocket drive. Without any change in millennium boobs hold their fascination while vehicles go from horse drawn cart to Space Shuttle and still don’t have enough power or speed.
At the airport, I go through security again. There are hardly any old people. I’ve watched hundreds go by and there just aren’t the grey hairs that once flew. Mostly middle aged. I notice I’m in the older crowd which surprises me given my immaturity. Maybe it’s just United. Have to be physically fit for the endurance trials. Takes the patience of Job. I was glad I upgraded to Economy plus. For the extra $30 I got a seat with leg room. Behind me in Economy, ship’s crew checked to be sure the passengers assumed the correct Sarcophagus knee to chest position for Economy flight. When I passed the first class section I saw the half dozen there had their body guards, mistresses, catamites, royal retinues, camels and treasure goods surrounding them. The attendants worked great fans and fed them grapes when they weren’t trading on cell phones for mid sized countries, opium and white girls.
The woman across from me looks sporty and competent. She’s dressed in the black shirt and tan pants that seem the hoit couture of southwest travel fashion. There’s a new born baby cutely attired in pink with pink bows in her curly hair. She’s lying on her front a pink blanket with a matching soother. She seems to like all the feet and lower leg action in the concourse. Two boys about 4 and 6 are well dressed and well behaved. They sit across from this young woman and interact like little princes. After watching them all be chipper I think I need another coffee.
A grossly obese man in black trousers, white shirt and orthopedic shoes, just puffed by. He must have been close to 500 lbs. In Supersize American with this recession and airlines charging extra for everything maybe they should consider selling their tickets by weight. No more smokers or drunks around her but the gluttons outnumber the lean and healthy considerably. An obese woman just sat own across from me with the brightest coloured scarf and jewelry, green shirt, pink shoes and those funny female televangelist glasses. She’s immediately weighed into a massive burger which came with the 5 gallon pop drink that still looks tiny beside her massive tree stump legs.
A guy about my age with the same sort of gut I’ve got doesn’t know that light coloured flowered shirts are a fashion faux pas for men like us. I’ve got the dark shirt and slacks. The guy following him has cross the line. His belt has been lost for weeks under the folo of his belly. My belt at least is still resting on top of the ponch.
More women with children. They look so relaxed and competent. How can they travel like that. The kids are little time bombs of bowel or bladder problems, emotional nightmares ready to go off at a moments notice. Yet they’re somehow doing really well. Some sort of award should be given to these kids and families. The screamers and wailers can be shot by firing squads in the airport back tarmac but all these kids and their mothers deserve medals.