Grey Doors

It’s amazing how the entire world can be discovered via one building.  Lining the wide, off-white-tiled hallways, hundreds of grey, padlocked doors lead to destinations typed onto royal blue television screens above them.  “New York City, Seoul, Sau Paulo…”   I find freedom in knowing that within hours I can be anywhere in the world, and all I would have to do is step through one of those doors.  

I’m surrounded by people from all over the world.  A family of six rush past me wearing matching t-shirts and mouse ears. Each parent holding a toddler and two elementary-aged kids running behind, they’re all grinning with excitement as they rush to their gate.  “They must be going to Orlando,” I think to myself.  Walking towards me is a Latina businesswoman in a navy suit and stilettos, her phone glued to her ear as she rolls her black carry-on behind her.  Walking beside me is a hippie-looking couple, their brunette dreadlocks piled on their heads, green, red, and yellow striped backpacks, and their loose clothing making them stand out even in this crowd. As I trek through to my own gate, I see burkas, baseball caps, and even a orange sombrero making their way through the crowded halls.  I look around and see many other nationalities represented in seats and restaurant lines.  It truly is a small world we live in, that so many people, cultures, and languages from all corners of the globe would find themselves in this one building at the same time. 

I look at my boarding pass, reminding myself of my gate: B2.  I stop for a moment and make a plan.  I’m currently in Terminal E, so I need to take the tram for three stops to Terminal B.  I look above at the grey and yellow signs with arrows pointing me in the right direction.  I pull my sky blue carry-on behind me as I make a right turn and go down two escalators.   Another crowd of people awaits me at the bottom.  One particular man catches my eye.  He wore a lime green t-shirt and bright red tennis shoes, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.  He stood heads above the rest of the group, and to my 4’11” frame, he seemed 10 feet tall.  I glanced at my phone to keep myself from staring and watched the clock counting down to the next train’s arrival.  30...29...28… and 27 seconds later a deep female voice announces “train arriving, please allow others to exit the train before boarding”.  No one listened to the voice, probably because they couldn’t hear her through their headphones, and after a few minutes of chaos everyone was settled and ready for the train’s next stop.  The tall man in the lime green t-shirt hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.  We made eye contact and he chuckled, seeming to say “This is one of those times where being short is an advantage.” I smirked and stood upright with plenty of room left to spare.  

The clear doors slide closed, and the train begins to move.  At Terminal D, few people disembarked, but what seemed like 100 people boarded.  “And now I wish I was that tall guy,” I muttered as I was squished among people, trying to breathe and  maintain control of my carry-on.  Two stops later, at Terminal B, I pushed my way through the crowd and took a deep breath as I broke through the wall of people into the open hall.  Other people leaving the train brushed past me towards the escalators that would take them up to the terminal, and after taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I followed them.  The tall man was still in the train, and I felt an odd sense of loss, like I was saying goodbye to a friend even though we never said a word to each other. 

Two long escalators later, I found myself in Terminal B.  I still had 45 minutes to find my gate before boarding began, my eye caught that all too familiar green mermaid sign.  I got in line behind two elderly women speaking what sounded like French, and in front of them were two young adults, carrying on a conversation in Spanish.  Two generations, two different languages, both in line for Starbucks coffee.  The whole world has probably passed through this line today, and again I’m reminded of the cultural diversity found in a single airport terminal.  Even the Starbucks employees showcased people from all over the world.  The girl taking my order had a slight Indian accent, and a mix of British and American accents emerged from those making the drinks.  After thanking them for my grande iced latte, I turn left, following the signs above pointing me in the direction of gate B2. 

I arrive at my gate with 20 minutes to spare, so I sit in one of the light grey chairs near an outlet to charge my phone a little bit before boarding.  A man sits next to me and pulls out a book in a language that looks to me like a bunch of squiggly lines.  “It must be amazing to be able to look at those characters and make sense of them,” I marvel.  Across the aisle from my seat is an African American couple gleaming joyfully at a sleeping newborn infant.  Next to them is a young woman with a black bag in her lap.  All of a sudden, the bag begins barking, and the woman tries to calm the little dog down by reaching her hand in the bag and petting its head. My eyebrows raise and I think to myself, “This is going to be an interesting flight.” 

A few minutes later, I hear the United Airlines representative’s voice over the intercom, announcing that boarding has begun.  The African American couple carry their baby to the desk and board along with others needing extra assistance.  I check my ticket, and I’m in seat 24A, boarding group 3.  I put my phone charger back in my carry-on bag and pull up the handle so I can roll it over to get in line.  

I’ve spent the entire day surrounded by grey doors leading to different locations, and it was finally my turn to step through one of them.  As I pull out my boarding pass and scan it, my stomach begins to jump from excitement.  I sigh and smile as I look into the blue-carpeted tunnel leading me to seat 24 A and to my destination.  But at the same time, I know I’m going to miss the little world I’m leaving behind.