Airports

I'm coming back from another conference--this time St. Louis, for which I'll detail later--and I am never not amazed. There's the usual internationally weary eyed traveler asleep on the floor, the young children acting as sound birth control for anyone within a hundred miles, there's the religious minded praying before flight (more touching since today is Easter), and then ... there are a group of Phi Sigs.


Yes, folks, that's fellow Phi Sigma Sigmas from the sorority I pledged in college. I'm watching there lettered shirts fill up a row of seats, hearing their incessant laughter, perhaps I'm smelling the remnants of their weekend, and my ears bleed from the singing. Oh. Dear. God. I refrain from complete jackassery, and showing my age, by not standing up and shouting "I have seniority in the hallowed walls of Phi Sig, so shut your pieholes!". Instead, I suck on a Diet Pepsi in the Detroit Airport's C concourse.

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