I’m a huge fan of airport romances. I say romances, I should really say fantasies. And by fantasies I mean daydreaming about the beautiful people you see sitting at the same gate as you, praying that by some twist of fate you’re sitting next to each other on the plane……. Or that effortlessly gorgeous girl that reaches across you to buy an oversized, novelty Toblerone at the duty free shop.
As part of the #3dates3mths challenge with JustSingles.com, I was supposed to try to find a date at Torture Garden. Unfortunately, with me being unable to make it, I needed to find a new challenge. A real challenge. A challenge that takes real balls.
So, I thought finding a date at the airport would be a great one.
Why not? Travelling’s a great way to meet people, some of my best friends are those that I met in random parts of the world just by striking up a conversation.
The airport is always filled with a ton bored people looking for some sort of spark to fill the void. Plus, I have had some hilarious encounters with women at various airports (including the time I woke up spooning a stripper I’d just met at Pisa airport after we missed our connection)…… But they’re stories for another time.
So, Now What?
I do my usual round at the airport. W.H Smith for a magazine I’d never normally buy in any other situation followed by trying on copious amounts of designer sunglasses and smelling various pieces of card that have been sprayed by cologne.
Next, it was time to go to a caffè and pay over the odds for a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. I take a seat on some couch-type set up across from an attractive woman and start to read my magazine. She looks up and gives me the once over. I’m wearing a suit as I’ve just come straight from a conference, so I know I’m well-dressed and have that whole “I must be successful, I’m wearing a suit” look about myself (if only she knew).
She looks up again. I smile back at her. “Where are you flying to?” I ask.
“London, you?” She responds.
“Me too. Who with?” I ask back.
“Easyjet, you? She responds again.
“British” I say.
We weren’t on the same flight, but after a bit more small talk we’d established that we both live in London. So far so good.
We had a good laugh about a few things and ordered another round of coffees – for which we had to take out a second mortgage for.
After spending half an hour in each other’s company she has to run and board her flight. It’s now or never to ask for her details. Do I or don’t I? Should I just leave her as (as Ed Norton famously coined in Fight Club) a “single-serving” friend, or is this something worth pursuing outside the airport? Moment of truth.
She gets up and gives me her card.
As she gives me her card she says “give me call, I’ve got plenty of funny antidotes to tell you“.
“Sorry?” I respond inquisitively.
“Antidotes, you know, like stories”. She affirms.
I was right, she did say antidotes. Antidotes?
She left and I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head whilst taking a sip of my ridiculously expensive coffee. “Never a dull moment” I think to myself.
Maybe I’m being too picky, but there was no way could see myself with someone who uses the word antidotes instead of anecdotes. I wonder how many other words she has messed up in that head of hers? Nucular instead of Nuclear? Aksed instead of asked? I wasn’t going to call her back to find out (even though it probably would have been hilarious).
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