Airport Description
The smell of jet fuel, car exhaust, and hot tarmac combine to assault the senses with images of exotic escapes and the kind of freedom that can only come from airports. The recently painted walls of the Orlando International Airport have racks of magazines and brochures proclaiming Florida as the greatest of the American states. Behind the shelves and books there is white paint beginning to crack, out of place compared to the rest of the immaculately decorated terminal.
In the departure lounge there are crowds of people listening to iPods and playing video games. In the front row there is a large group of adults with suit cases and pictures of Disney characters on their clothes chatting about the weather in Florida and the possibility of rain. A middle aged American man with a cowboy hat and a picture of Donald Duck on his shirt stands to give himself a fresh blast of deodorant before sitting back down. It lingers in the air much to the disapproval of the other passengers as it clashes with the air fresheners inside the terminal and the sickly scent cheap fast food.
There is the constant drone of the mechanical, yet pleasant, voice on the public address system calling for someone to go to the nearest help desk or announcing that flight 896 is now boarding at gate 11. As a woman briskly walks to the desk it is clear that under the calm and composed surface there is an undercurrent of anticipation, impatience, and boredom.
Behind the help desk is a woman with long blonde hair tied up in a neat pony tail. Opposite her is a decrepit old man wearing a baggy woolen jumper and tan chinos. Behind is a long queue of people waiting for more than ten minutes as he is standing there talking to the young woman. After fifteen minutes it seems she’s reached her limit as her fake smile falters when she asks him to move along and then turns into an angry scowl and orders him to leave before she contacts security. The old man shuffles off muttering about ‘respect and attitude
In the departure lounge there are crowds of people listening to iPods and playing video games. In the front row there is a large group of adults with suit cases and pictures of Disney characters on their clothes chatting about the weather in Florida and the possibility of rain. A middle aged American man with a cowboy hat and a picture of Donald Duck on his shirt stands to give himself a fresh blast of deodorant before sitting back down. It lingers in the air much to the disapproval of the other passengers as it clashes with the air fresheners inside the terminal and the sickly scent cheap fast food.
There is the constant drone of the mechanical, yet pleasant, voice on the public address system calling for someone to go to the nearest help desk or announcing that flight 896 is now boarding at gate 11. As a woman briskly walks to the desk it is clear that under the calm and composed surface there is an undercurrent of anticipation, impatience, and boredom.
Behind the help desk is a woman with long blonde hair tied up in a neat pony tail. Opposite her is a decrepit old man wearing a baggy woolen jumper and tan chinos. Behind is a long queue of people waiting for more than ten minutes as he is standing there talking to the young woman. After fifteen minutes it seems she’s reached her limit as her fake smile falters when she asks him to move along and then turns into an angry scowl and orders him to leave before she contacts security. The old man shuffles off muttering about ‘respect and attitude