The Waiting Game

The Waiting Game:
Andrew McKenzie
10/11/2004

Here I am at Prestwick airport, it is Friday afternoon, probably one of its busier days. I am never sure if the people I see are leaving Glasgow or whether they have just arrived.

The first thing one does see, on arrival are the long queues at the check-in counters. You usually have to first locate your queue and then join in. It somehow reminds me of a large fast food outlet. It almost looks like a Burger King or a MacDonald’s, except it’s not a happy meal you are ordering. Although, I think that is what some people are looking for.

I have barely finished checking-in and I am walking away from the counter, when I am confronted by someone trying to sign me up for yet another credit card. Yes, these ones have fancy pictures on them, however, the pretty pictures don’t seem to be worth the interest rates they want to charge me. I eventually manage to convince them that I am not interested. I make it into WH Smith, where, I intend to purchase some light reading, to entertain myself. I have a book but I tend to keep this for the airplane. I usually spend quite a bit of time going through the publications, even although I have no intention of buying another book. My resolve is sometimes weakened but not on this occasion. I eventually settle for the New Scientist magazine as an article catches my attention.

I make my way across to the Alloway’s pub. I order a pint and notice a large proportion of the people have blue and white scarves on. I have a Sparta Prague top on and notice their interest in me. I therefore conclude that they are football supporters. I listen and hear them speaking German. I then realise they must be Schalke 04 fans as the team played against Hearts the previous evening. As some of them leave the pub the say something to me, which I couldn’t catch, and probably wouldn’t have understood. I say Schalke and tell them they have a good victory under the belt. Its smiles all round.

There are the usual groups of guys all with the same t-shirt on, someone’s stag party. I see two separate groups at the pub. I am not sure what the t-shirts are about. I wonder if they have a t-shirt for every day they are away? A group of women arrive all wearing pink playboy type ears. They all seem to be going to Barcelona. I am glad that I am not.

Everywhere around the airport are individuals as well as groups of people sitting around waiting. Waiting to leave or for people to arrive. I sense that some people will still be waiting for something long after they have left. From the luxury of my vantage point I find myself watching people, picking up snippets of conversations. Immersing myself in their world, if only for a few seconds. Watching couples and either their familiarity and or strained relationships fast approaching breaking point. Mothers trying to keep bored children entertained. Newly joined couples trying to maintain acceptable levels of decency, in a public place. As an announcement is made whole groups of people leave only to be replaced by more that have just arrived.

After a while, I join the group that has moved from one area to another. I can’t help but wonder, isn’t life itself, just a waiting game.