Airport Literature : Introduction (793 hits)
Category: GraphicsRating: 1.97 on 19 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Grownasskid (View user info) at 2007-06-18 18:26:22 EDT
I have a little over an hour until my flight to Newark, NJ is scheduled to board, so to kill some time I decide to write. I pull my little yellow legal pad out from my laptop case, the little yellow legal pad filled with notes about web design and JAVAscript and forms and frames, and I pull my pen out of my pocket, my sleek metal twist-top pen with the prescription drug name stamped across the top of it that I stole from my father less than 24 hours ago, and I write. I write ferociously, with my head down and my eyes to the page. My handwriting, illegible to everyone but myself, partly out of self defense and partly out of laziness, crawls across the 5 inch pad in a line at the top of the page until it spills over and starts again right below the first line of text.
This morning, in the least frivolous terminal of a smallish airport in a smallish western NY city, on a day that will almost certainly ungodly hot and humid despite the coolness in the air at 8:30 in the morning, I will write. Maybe someone in the terminal near by will happen to glance my way. Maybe they will notice me, scribbling on to a small pad with my head down, lost in my own thoughts. Perhaps they will see my laptop case, covered in stickers for different musical acts, record labels, and rock albums. Maybe they'll take notice of my questionable hygiene and regrettable fashion sense.
Maybe one of them will think that I am some sort of rock journalist. Maybe (oh God I hope), just maybe one of them will think that I am a writer. Because I would love that.
Of course, maybe no one will notice me at all. But I wish that someone would just take a break from their laptops or their over-priced, airport-purchased literature to, I don't know, check the time or see where the bathrooms are or just to look around for a second. And I wish their eyes would drift my way and they would think to themselves "Huh. That guy must be a writer. I wonder what he's working on now."
Because if even one person did this, if one person opened their minds enough to pretend for a fleeting moment that I could be a writer, that would mean that I am a writer. Sure, I wouldn't actually be a writer, but in the head of a complete stranger in a shitty, comfortless airport terminal, in their minds for a fleeting moment as they wait for their plane to arrive and take them home I would be something greater than what I am.
Given the chance, I would live in that moment for eternity.
I don't remember exactly when I gained such an obsessive admiration to the idea of writing, but I know it was before I started to drink professionally. Those in the know about me know that "Writer" is not niche I can fit in to. Now, "Drunk"? Ah, That is my role in this great two act tragicomedy or life. "Drunk" is a niche I can fill with minimal effort and maximum efficiency. Oh, I suppose I could also play the role of "Pretentious Ass Music Critic" or "Defender and Champion of Culture, Pop or Otherwise" depending on which side of the fence you fell. And most assuredly I can fit the "Drunk" niche with ease. But "Writer"? William Byron Flynn, a writer? No, definitely not.
This is why, should someone notice me scratching at the walls of the cave, I will love that person with solar-flare intensity and the brevity of teenage love that my closest, most personal friends will never know. Because here, in this tiny airport, with my greasy hair, my yellow notepad, and my sleek, stolen pen, someone may fulfill the dream that I am too lazy or too afraid to peruse myself. These people in the terminal, every one of them is a potential Mother Theresa to take pity on the weak and hungry child that I am. Every person here is a potential saint.
And, sure, the minute they go back to their US Weekly or their Rolling Stone or their Newsweek, the dream is over and I go back to being Will Flynn, Member of the Food Service Industry and Struggling Writer. But I'll take an instant over nothing, thanks.
The attractive but warn flight attendant tells us that the airplane has pulled up to the gate, and rows 10 and up will now be boarding. I tuck my notebook away and slip my pen back into my pocket, and I get in line to board the plane. People fall into line silently behind me, focusing on their ipods or their boarding passes. The dream is over.
*****
This isn't a story about me wanting to be a writer. Well, not directly it isn't. It's more of a story about drinking. Drinking, and trying to find something else behind it. Maybe trying to find a reason for it. Maybe about trying to get the motivation behind drinking a case of beer every two days. Older acquaintances, people I knew back when I was a teenager, are shocked to find that I have become such an accomplished and, at times, desperate substance abuser. Truth be told, when my guard is down and my mind slips the leash and wanders into the dark part where awful, hurtful truths live next door to screaming, calculated madness and blind, focus-less rage, I am shocked by it too. This was not something I saw coming when I was still fresh faced.
It is at these times, when my mind is far from the warmth of rational thought, that I feel the most weak, the most hopeless. I didn't even know 23 year old had the capacity for understanding hopelessness.
Regardless, I've narrowed down my reasons for my abuse into three possible choices, and three possible categories. The categories are "The Lie", "The Partial Truth", and "The Real Truth". I will list them here, one at a time, and you can pick whichever one seems most justified to you, but I must warn you that is an imperfect system based on a sliding scale of how I understand the quote-unquote "Truth". I still don't know which one is the real motivation.
The Lie:
I drink to become a better writer.
The Partial Truth:
I drink because I was destined to do so; it was inevitable.
The Real Truth:
I drink because I am afraid to do anything else.
*****
User Reviews
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-06-26 15:50:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Zeglamancer (user info) at 2007-06-19 14:46:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Perhaps I am just a sheep then or something? Because frankly I rarely notice other people near me. That or its due to being raised in a large city.
I get on the subways, I take cabs, I walk down streets. Yet for the life of me if you had been chasing me with a video camera, and showed me a pinpointed moment of my day and asked me if I remembered at 1:32pm EST the guy in the light blue shirt. I couldn't even tell ya the color or his hair.
I've been conditioned to only notice other people that I don't know, when some sort of un-normal event occurs. Even then I rarely bat an eye. Some drunkard starting trouble on a subway? If he isnt directly interacting with me, I just look out the window and forget he and the poor bastard he is bothering, even exist. Some bum asleep on a sidewalk, with last week's NY TIMES edition pages as his blanket? I will step over or around him without missing a beat, never even once pausing to consider this man's name is Clyde, he is 34 years old and originially he was born in a small obscure and completely uknown except to the locals town in deep backwoods Georgia. Such trivial knowlege about complete strangers holds no interest to me. I doubt it ever will, because in the grand scheme of things who cares?
I do not mean to slam the original poster I am simply showing the exact opposite side of the fence point of view
Submitted by SunnyG (user info) at 2007-06-19 10:04:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I drink....to excess. But then again, im 19 and going into my 3rd year of Engineering...I need a fucking drink now and then.
I'm going to stop the frequency of it though. Graduate schools don't take drunks (well, the good ones don't)
Submitted by Grownasskid (user info) at 2007-06-19 09:02:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
goddamn, a 2 from TheUniter?
He must be drunk.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-19 08:57:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Progr3ss (user info) at 2007-06-19 07:54:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I look at people all the time and wonder what it is they really do. Not their jobs, that's boring. But what they do, who they ARE. I watch people in their cars as they pass me going the other way. They seem to project more of who they are in those few seconds of observation, then in a whole life time of speech. People tend to think that they're alone in their cars.
And writers don't really look like writers. Much the same as an insane person thinks their getting saner the deeper they slide.
And drinking is a harsh mistress that tempts with words and kisses, but destroys with violence and remorse.
Submitted by Maestro (user info) at 2007-06-19 04:45:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2007-06-19 04:24:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I understand the quote-unquote "Truth".
-----
I don't think you need to use 'quote-unquote' in text, especially when accompanied by the punctuation it describes. This was still better than most - you write fairly well.
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2007-06-19 02:22:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You're ..me!
Rather eerie, the way you have articulated the thoughts I choose to drown...
Fuck, now the X-Files theme song is on Repeat in my brain..
aaaahhh....
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-06-19 01:02:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Zeglamancer (user info) at 2007-06-18 18:34:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Mario jumping this time?
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If being thought of as a writer means someone thinks you're better than what you actually are, then your life really sucks, as I for one look down upon writers.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-06-18 23:16:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fanfuckingtastic.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-06-18 22:27:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
it was preordained for me to follow the partial truth
***
joedaddy's travel tip #27: always pre-board with the "crips" to the window seat directly behind the emergency exit row
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-06-18 22:03:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Some good stuff here, man.
Aside from the rare beer with friends, I don't drink any more.
It all goes back to the Night of Vomit & Broken Windows, many years ago.
One of the benefits of abstinence is that when you do drink, you get blotto fast. Saves $$$.
Submitted by billiam5billion (user info) at 2007-06-18 21:50:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I drink because I'm afraid that my sober writing will be a massive failure. Everybody needs an excuse. Way to go.
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-06-18 21:03:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
quick everyone, hide before TTOM comes in and plugs his website.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-06-18 19:32:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This needs a proofread, but I liked it very much.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-06-18 19:16:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You have a nice way with words.
If this was a truthful depiction of your thoughts you should pull your head out of your ass.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-06-18 19:08:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I understand this post. I understand it all too well.
Submitted by Zeglamancer (user info) at 2007-06-18 18:34:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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