people watching as a writer

airports are my favorite places

If you have ever met me or spent time bantering with me on Threads, then you know that I am a massive introvert. My daily life is built around the desire to not be around other people, mostly because it exhausts me. So, you might be surprised to know that one of my very favorite places to be is a busy airport. The more people, the better.

I’m a technical writer and editor at my day job, but I work remotely and am therefore extremely isolated, by most standards. This is not by accident. But a few times a year, my colleagues and I are beckoned to the main office in DC, and I end up spending quite a bit of time in the airport.

While at the airport, I carry a worn copy of JD Salinger’s Franny & Zooey. It is my comfort read when I travel, and I usually dive into it to warm up to my surroundings. It feels easier to convince myself that I don’t stick out as a gawker when I have something to read. But I rarely read for long because I’m watching people. And I love to take my time.

As a creative writer, I spend a lot of time in my head trying to conjure up interesting characters. People watching affords me the gift of observation to see how people move and speak and rush and complain all up front, in person.

I pay attention to details like how one man in Gate 47, a few seats away from me, wore incredibly beautiful leather loafers and no socks. He crossed his legs at his ankles, which were exceedingly pale white compared to his bronze face. His loafers were nearly the same color as his face. I found this jarring, to be honest. He kept scratching one ankle with the other, which I also found peculiar. And in my head, I made up a whole little scene about how this man was trying to look more exotic to impress someone. But who? My mind went on.

On another trip, I sat at the Wolfgang Puck Bar & Bites and ordered a seltzer water and marinated olives. I sat and quietly picked at my plate, my book open, while listening to one older lady telling another older lady all about her daughter-in-law’s plastic surgery. She deftly sprinkled in veiled insults that I thought were too perfect not to take mental note of for future dialogue.

In the women’s bathroom was a pack of teenage girls, each a carbon copy of the next, taking selfies and excitedly chattering. An exhausted mom exhaled deeply while her young daughter took too long to wash her hands. A type-A personality with luggage blocking a wall-mounted paper towel dispenser directed the line to empty stalls. A worker changed the garbage bag.

Outside, a sea of black suitcases and dark winter coats lined the paved sidewalks waiting for Uber’s, which never seemed to touch but were zipping in and out at every odd angle.

People. Everywhere.

So many ideas for characters.