YYC International

by Nic Olson

As the awkward bearded business man wipes his nose with his finger, and his young pointy shoed colleague chats on his Blackberry, designer wheeled everything follows behind like a wounded dog.
Hippies have their hammocks spewing out of their practical travel backpacks, as their 60 year old parents walk them to the BMW.
People adjust themselves once, twice, as a family of immigrants travel home while another family of immigrants cooks your burger.
The perfect place for people-watching.

I love airports. Everyone is so familiar because you feel as tired and ugly as they do. Everyone at every airport looks the same except that one deadly redneck to my left. Never seen him before.
Travel is the world’s best indicator as to what class you are in. First of all, airplanes do it straight up. First, business, economy. But then there is the class that can’t afford air travel. Buses, trains or nothing. You can’t deny your class when you look at travel options. They will tell you where you are. I would rather not be associated with most airplane travellers.

Your true character is shown when you are when you are late for your connecting flight to Puerto Vallarta.