Come Lounge With Me

Surprise surprise, another airport entry; although at least this time I’m actually in New York. Today I find myself wallowing in the perpetual disappointment that is JFK. For a city that claims to be the world’s capital it certainly doesn’t show it at this airport. Arrivals through immigration are almost always met with surly officers, remind me but I think “being courteous” is one of the “pledges” made by Border Control on their posters in the hall. As for Departures, forget any level of comfort, novelty shopping, or hospitality; the seating areas just about sum it up: blocks of concrete. I’m serious, dull grey sections of concrete straight out of The Projects. People spend significant amounts of time on their arses in these places - flights are delayed and you have to arrive at airports earlier than ever before - surely there needs to be more than a cement-seat to pander your buttocks? And it’s not as if these are aging terminals, JFK underwent significant renovations a couple of years back. Remember The Terminal with Tom Hanks? That film's set at JFK. In one scene he's having a canglelight dinner with Catherine Zeta-Jones on a picturesque glass mezzanine, very romantic - very not here. Well, at least not Terminal 4 (or 7). If anything this terminal set was designed in the third grade creative drawing class at PS62 down the road.

An amazing array of shops - all six stores

One thing I've noticed, which I realise is common to many airports, is the presence of a luggage shop. At what point do you get through check-in and into the departures lounge to realise that now’s the time to buy a 32” suitcase? Are there people arriving at airports, their clothes in hand with a trail of socks and underpants behind them, who had awoken that morning thinking, “I haven’t got time to pack, I’ll do it at the airport”?

An amazing array of urinals

So, I'm now through security on the way to my gate; I note we live in a time when you can literally strip down in public without any need for prompting - off with the shoes, belt and jacket, the trousers fall down when you release your grip on them to get "wanded". And an added nugget of amusement for the staff: the lady behind me was repeatedly asked to go through the metal-detecting arch which was continually sounding because she was too large to avoid knocking against its sides. A deep breath and a crabbing motion finally saw her through unbleeped. This nation should know better, those detectors need to be 50% larger. Still at least she’s got comfy seats to look forward to on this side of the terminal, her security risk rear will be content. And the bar is always well populated with travellers who seem to be equally happy that they’ve finally found some form of distraction for an hour or two, a last chance to sip a Manhattan. They may miss the city but definitely not its airport.