Whatever happened to the old airports?  I expected to spend my layover in the stark terminals and stiff, black vinyl chairs I remembered from the past.  As I wandered about, searching for the gate to my connector flight, I was stunned to find this would not be the case.  Instead, I’d be spending the next several hours trapped in a shopping mall.  Now, rather than sleeping sprawled across three uncomfortable chairs, or getting drunk on $8 Budweiser I could buy a cell phone (hours of entertainment listening to each ring-tone, but useless at 30,000 feet) foreign language CDs, or even a stylish jacket at Wilson’s Leather.  I could even get a massage or manicure while I waited for it to be gift-wrapped.  The best part is that, if you somehow forgot your carry-on, rather than carrying your clothes and PDAs stuffed into your pockets, you can purchase a brand new luggage set at one of several stores.  The choices are endless.

The really disturbing part is that the people crowding the immense food-courts are the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen.  It’s like the teeny-boppers of the shopping malls graduated up to milling around airports on their 19th birthday.  And even though all races seemed to be represented, if you’re not white, chances are you’re wearing some kind of uniform, serving all these pale, perfect people. 

You can’t run away screaming, or you have to go back through the security line and take your shoes off again.