The ten worst airports? The two Houston airports, Dallas, SFO, and it’s been years since I’ve been through any others, Denver, I think. Denver wasn’t bad, not for me, but by then, even a decade past, I’d long since learned to carry a book when traveling, expect delays.
I think it was near fifteen years ago, and I’m sure there’s a chronicle on the site, but it was at a unscheduled layover in one of the Houston airports, I submitted a column via a hand-held (Apple Newton), attached to a real cellular cell phone.
“Yeah, back in the day,” as they would say.
Very high-tech and complicated arrangement considering the time, and my how times have changed. That was then, and these days, I travel so much less frequently, and even less by air. Doesn’t bother me much, but I’m sure, buried in the terms of service, there’s a clause that indemnifies the carrier.
I refuse to think of airports as bad or good, and I’ve long-since figured that places like SFO, or SeaTac, there will be weather delays. Or something. Then, too, Dallas (Love Field) is at the tail-end of Tornado Alley, and that means, it’s zoned for weird weather.
I loved the El Paso airport, same era, there used to be a game room/smoking lounge, inside the airport. Same for SFO. Vegas always had the worst odds on slots, and smoking, in the airport. Liked that. Was even more fun when I got recognized by a gate agent as “that Kramer,” and the best time, was when the girlfriend on that trip won big. At the airport. Worst odds in Vegas.
The worst airports? I live in Texas, and I’ve been commuting by commercial air for many, many years. I’ve got stories.
I arrived, January El Paso fair, at the Austin airport in jeans, tux shirt, tux jacket. Saturday morning. I hustled through security and then put in studs, cuff links, big bolo, all of that, I got dressed at the airport. There used to be, still buried someplace on the site, an image of my bare feet with the Teva Tan Lines, against the Austin departure lounge. Summer, winter.
A really old Dallas airport (the big airport) memory, was calling American, confirming an on-time arrival, and buzzing out there to pick up a buddy, only to discover his flight was then an hour late. Not enough time to go any place, just pace the empty halls.
Late on a Tuesday, if I recall, obviously pre-9/11.
Not a bad airport, and there is adequate, if pricey diversions, like $17 for a mocha-cappucino-frappe-lite. With sprinkles.
The tag line for San Antonio is “Keep San Antonio Lame,” and I’m in favor of that. Airport, for all its traffic, seems laconic. I still miss the Austin baggage handler who knew me by name.
Strong Wind