“… The doctor then told me … ‘honey … look at your EKG … I can tell you that you’re gonna have a minor heart attack soon’ … and I was like ‘doctor, don’t tell me this … please’ …”
The TSA guard was sitting there, her body draped over that steel framed chair, the signs of age everywhere – she was somebody’s mom, grandmother, and she had no business acting like “security”. She should be relaxing, not consuming the Monsanto cancer nuggets and wearing that uncomfortable looking uniform. But when you consider the work available these days, the jobs, for all of us … well … I suppose this is a good job, if kind of douchee and fascist.
She, the TSA employee, accosted any passer-by that moved too closely to her orbit. She would tell her stories, her anecdotes, even the joyful ones about her impending heart attack. She is a normal person ensnared in the absurdity of this temple, this monument, of impossible expectations – the airport.
The airport isn’t empty, but I arrive early for my flight expecting it to be empty.
I’m leaving for Denver at 7 AM and that means I must get to the airport by 5 AM. By 5 AM … to take off my shoes … to unbind my belt which contains a metal buckle … to pull out my computer, out of my bag, because who knows (it might contain something “bad”). I can’t even say what “bad” is, because this isn’t a private space – there are no private spaces if you are connected. “Internet of Things” – fuck yeah. We are all “things” now.
“The moving-walkway is coming to an end, please watch your step …”
I know what it is trying to tell me, I understand the message.
We make our way to this terminal, expecting to experience one last fading glow of normalcy – but nothing is normal.
I go to “Wolfgang Puck’s” pre-packaged, freeze-dried, “fresh”, bistro, and grab some “eggs” – but the toast is stale, the potatoes are from last night and the eggs have an after-taste which mocks my optimism (bullshit – what optimism?). Nothing in front of me is out of place. I savour the taste of decay, decrepitude, the aspect of sclerotic ideas and the boundaries of our American Dream.
“The moving walk-way is coming to an end, please, for fuck’s sake, watch your fucking step!”
The moving walk-way is coming to an end …
That magical, perpetual, moving thingy that we took for granted and will likely end up scrap metal on some heap – converted to farm implements and shivs and axes in a few years. That “moving walk-way” was part of the problem, and will be in our rear-view mirror soon enough. We assumed that there was some “thing” that we could step on, that would carry us home, forever and ever, and all of this was a lie to begin with – and you will only anger people if you tell them this.
I know the other people here sense it, despite their bargaining and denial.
I know that the others can see it, the ravages of entropy playing games with their make-believe middle-class world.
All I want to do is scream, AS LOUDLY AS I CAN!
“THE MOVING WALK-WAY IS COMING TO AN END YOU FUCKS! AND NO ONE IS GOING TO SAVE YOU!”