SofSW: The SW Basics (1/6)

You never know exactly where you are as you leave a train. You know you’ll be standing on the platform, but the way to the station might be in either direction. I stand with my luggage on the platform lost for a moment. Once I reach the right state of mind I start looking for the right station of mine. I have two choices, the escalator or the elevator. I see the elevator to the left of me and head towards the group standing in front of it already. These half-a-dozen strangers were on the same train as I just a moment ago. Half-a-dozen travelers equals five suitcases; three on wheels, two being carried; and one backpacker. The elevator arrives and the six suitcases and one backpack enter it with their custodians.

A pair of girls discuss the trip ahead, but everybody else is quiet. We don’t know each other, we need nothing from each other, there’s no need to communicate. In fact, we all seem to prefer not to communicate at all. I certainly don’t need any distractions now, I know exactly what I am to do and how I am going to achieve it. I need to get to airport terminal as directly as possible. I am in no hurry, but there’s nothing else to do here either. When seven people are crammed into a closed space and five of them don’t want to signal anything, not even accidentally, the results are hilarious from any outside observers. We try to find something to look at that attracts our attention, but isn’t human. Some of us look at the ceiling and the digital display showing a one changing into a two. Such excitement, who would have guessed that as the elevator ascend from level one to another level, it would be called level two? Some of us turn our heads downwards trying to catch glimpses of shoes or luggage or whatever that could hold our imagination without seeming completely awkward. I choose to look at the luggage of my closest standing perfect stranger. His suitcase is black, with a grey band going around it under the handle. It seems to have a three-digit combination lock. I can’t quite make out the numbers, but I can’t help wondering if the combination would open the lock. I try to remember to shuffle the numbers of my suitcase when it is closed, but sometimes I forget. The mystery of the combination lock won’t be revealed to me and I feel like somebody’s staring right at me.

The feeling is very strong, but as I turn my head upwards, I can’t see anybody looking at me. Did that man in the corner just avert his eyes or has he been looking past me all the time? Behind me there’s the metal-colored wall of the elevator, nothing special. He doesn’t seem to be thinking, although that is hard to tell from outside. He seems to be looking at something, but there’s nothing behind me. Why would he stare at me? Is my collar funnily, do I have something on my face? I made some notes with a ballpoint pen, maybe the ink leaked to my fingers and maybe I’ve rubbed my face with the hand and didn’t notice that it is smeared blue. I check my hands. There’s no ink anywhere. I’ll have to check my face in the mirror. I could have rubbed all of the ink on my face. That would be the worse case. Not having any evidence to suspect it, but having a maximum amount of ink on the face. That would be embarrassing.

After an eternity of uncomfortable silence, with only two girls talking about ordinary, everyday things, the elevator arrives and the large metal doors open. The elevator regurgitates its passengers in one deep sigh and the race is on. Everybody wants to go the terminal as straight as possible and there’s no need to slack behind. I take my part seriously and overtake a few of my ascended acquaintances in the first curve out of the elevator. The roar of the suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. More suitcases and people stream in from the escalators. Overpacked suitcases make ear-screeching noises as the bearings on the wheels are subjected to extreme pressure as the cases are being dragged by their owners. A man with a green overcoat and stripy pants cuts in front of me and I have to stop to avoid a collision. A pink cap just wobbles one side to side as the man’s back moves further away from me. I speed up again to not let anybody else take the advantage and fill the empty space behind Harlequin Huey. I think I see the Staring Man to the right of me, but I can’t be sure. We all reach the Airtrack terminal.

The Airtrack is a small train taking passengers from the train station to the airport for free. There are two trains and two tracks. The tracks are suspended on fifteen meter high pillars and the trains are hanging from the track. Hence the name Airtrack. The trains are always moving to opposite directions on this 7-minute track. There are thirty seats on the train and room for another thirty or so standing. I wonder if all of us will fit into the next train. The train arrives and, sure enough, fifteen people or so are left waiting for the next train. This one idiot in a white cotton suit and white leather shoes wants to absolutely fit in with his two large suitcases and his enormous backpack. Pushing and shoving he almost gets caught in the automatically closing doors but eventually they close. People standing in the aisle are holding on to the nooses from the ceiling and they have to adjust themselves to fit the Great White Traveller better. The train starts and a backward surge goes through the passengers. Nobody falls and the mass of perfect strangers desperately look for something interesting to gaze at. The Airtrack is generous in this regard. There are windows through it in every direction. The scenery changes, there’s a motor-way to the left of it and some fields to the right of it. As we turn to the right, the motor-way is replaced by a parking house and the fields covered by airport buildings. There’s catering services, some large oil containers, hundreds and hundreds of parked cars. Now the runway comes into view with some helicopters parked near the fence on the grass. An airplane is rolling on the runway gathering speed and before it has time to take off it disappears behind the terminal building. The train comes to a halt, the automatic doors open and the crowd manages to leave the train in a more or less orderly fashion, one by one.