Literally flying solo: Part one

I have now been in San Francisco airport for 7 hours and I’m starting to feel like Tom Hanks in the fucking terminal, but far less ingenious with sleeping arrangements.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘why show up so early then you maniac?’ Well, I am an idiot, and forgot that a check out for a hotel is like 12 midday tops. My flight wasn’t until 8.45pm. I could either have booked another night and taken the $120 dollar financial muff punch, or dragged my case about the city all day that I had already spent 3 days in. Well it turns out the hotel was fully booked so I couldn’t have the muff punch even if I’d have been willing to take it. So I grabbed my chance of a free shuttle bus to the airport at 11am and convinced myself I could stay amused for the day here. Only boring people get bored.

I’ll tell you this – with modern devices and their atrocious battery life there is only so much social media you can do before you’re forced to find a plug. And plugs there were, but being solo, there was no one to watch my plethora of crap while I trotted off so I had to lug it all with me – everywhere, all the time. Luckily I found San Francisco airport has a beautiful library and aviation museum. I know right?


I sat there and wrote half of this quite happily until I was told the library shuts at 4pm. Rats. So I’m turfed out and by now, pretty done with the waiting thing after having only brushed the halfway mark. I go to get a coffee to get my head back in the game, only for a barista to tell me ‘here’s your decaff latte’. I recoil like he’s handed me a pickled testicle. Then seeing my face was one of someone who had just had their house broken into and their kids pissed on, he proclaimed: ‘only joking!’. You’re wasted here pal, you should be on telly.

I’m starting to feel pretty tense. I see it like this, I have a few options here for improving this situation that aren’t just getting blind drunk.

  1. There is a massage place in the departure lounge, I loiter there wondering how much I want a $40, half hour massage, but then realise the masseuse will probably try and make small talk with me and I want that like I want to blow a dog. So unless they’re a deaf mute, I’m shit out of luck here.
  2. Have a nice refreshing wank in a airport toilet. But genuinely, I’m not sure I have the spirit.
  3. The bar…Come on, I’ve drunk nothing but tap water all day. Well, I had a coffee earlier, but old chuckles barista really stressed me out. I am also eating a very powdery apple which is doing nothing for my resolve. Fuck it, bar it is.

I sit at the singles counter, where I belong, and order a cosmopolitan, which turns out to be just below the strength of the stuff they fuel the planes with. There’s a fellow solo female traveler slides up next to me and orders a beer. She seems like a fun time girl… and when she waits until the barman’s back is turned and pockets a stack of napkins I know she’s my kind of woman. There’s a baseball game showing, and up comes to bat ‘Madison Bumgarner’, there’s my opener and she totally got the joke. Turns out she’s a Canadian named Maura on her way back to the homeland. She’s a total delight, and as I order another plane fuel cosmo and bid her adieu, I start to think… this flying solo stuff isn’t so bad.

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