I sat in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport and ate rubbery eggs and a dry biscuit from Sbarro. It was 6:55 a.m. If you're eating breakfast at Sbarro at 6:55 a.m. on a Sunday morning, you know things . . . well, could be better. Indeed, you certainly can't expect much in the way of 'goodness.' Unfortunately, these were the conditions in which I found myself; it was the best I had to work with.

The Minneapolis Airport, in keeping with the city's reputation as our country's greatest 'mall' town, actually has a mall in the airport, a pretty good one, too, (if we agree that by 'good' we mean that it served it's purpose of providing many stores at which people could do their shopping; not 'good' in the sense that malls are implicitly 'good.') Of course, Minneapolis is home to the well-known 'Mall of America' and the downtown 'Nicolett Mall.' But just in case you didn't get in enough shopping at one of these two places during your stay in Minneapolis, you had one more shot at the airport. And in case security is a concern when you shop, you can rest assured that the airport mall is probably one of the safest malls in America, since you have to actually go through security to shop there.

As I sat in the food court eating my tasteless eggs and staring out at the airport runway through a dark wall of glass, I began to wonder if I was, in truth, having a very bad dream. The piped-in music lent a touch of evil to an already strange and surreal landscape. Some saxophone player, desperate for cash, no doubt, had somehow been convinced by a record producer somewhere to do a jazz rendition of 'Let it Be,' complete with an overly passionate, soaring solo. The evidence of this unfortunate commission was now being played over the airport sound system, making me wince at each ascending scale. It was cruel and not at all pleasing. On general principle, nobody should ever do an improvised, soft-jazz rendition of a Beatles hit. I mean, it's up there right next to 'thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.'

I finished my eggs, gulped down my orange juice, and proceeded to the trash can. When I pushed on the swing door to deposit my non-recyclable plastic ware in the repository, a computer-generated voice thanked me for not littering. The trash can door operated on some sort of motor. It didn't just swing like most trash doors. It moved mechanically, eerily. Did it make people feel special when a trashcan door operated on a motor and thanked them for throwing away their trash in a bad, 80's-style computer-like voice? What was the purpose for this gratuitous display of technology? It didn't do anything for me except drive home an already uneasy feeling that things were not right in this place. I had not even had coffee yet, so my mind was not sure what to make of all this shit.

The music was interrupted momentarily by the following announcement: "Wesley Wright . . . please make sure you're proceeding in the right direction . . . concourse F." I swear I heard this, and yet, even now, I'm baffled at what it could've meant. Why was Wesley Wright receiving this message over the intercom? Was there a reason why Wesley Wright would be heading in the wrong direction? If so, why did the announcer feel compelled to make note of it? Why didn't we ALL get these personal messages? Mine might be: "Rothko, please make sure you are waiting for your flight at gate E11. If you are at gate E9, you are in the wrong place." What might life be like if we all had such a narrator sending little messages to us like this?

Anyway, who was this Wesley Wright, and what special relationship did he have with the airport announcer?

I decided to buy a coffee and try to clear my mind. I had a good 2 hours until my flight. I read, then napped off and on. I got on the first leg of my flight. I had a layover in Chicago. Things seemed more grounded in reality there. Then I boarded my final leg to DC. By the time I landed at Reagan National, I once again felt firmly rooted in this world. I threw away my boarding pass in a trash can that spoke nothing in return and I heard no personalized announcements on the intercom. I was glad to be home.

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