The Cell Phone Lot

I was early when I went to pick up my mom at the airport tonight, so I pulled into the cell phone lot to wait. It was my first time in a cell phone lot. I was a little bit nervous. I mean, it was a dark, nearly empty lot, adjacent to the long term parking and the place where all the shared-ride vans wait before they drive around to the terminals. Most of us were by ourselves in our cars, sitting with our engines off and our radios on. If you've seen a scary movie, you know just what this type of scene can lead to. I could just picture a man creeping up beside my car, lunging at my door handle. I shivered in the driver's seat and pushed the electric lock button.

But it really wasn't that scary. Mostly, the other cars pulled in and parked politely--a few spaces away from each other so as not to intrude. But then a woman in a Honda pulled in directly across from me. I squinted into her lights. She turned them off and smiled, so I smiled back. Next, a woman in an SUV pulled in beside her. A few minutes later, a woman pulled in beside me, cut her engine and immediately began to apply foundation to her face. The man who parked behind me and to my right was dressed in a nice Western-style shirt and pressed jeans. He got out of his car to scarf down a hamburger so he wouldn't drip on his clothes.

My mom called.

"Yay!" I answered, reaching my right hand up to turn the key.

"We just landed and we're still on the plane" she said. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the cell phone lot," I said, dropping my hand from the ignition.

"Yourself a lot, what?" she asked.

"Never mind," I said. "Call me when your baggage carousel starts up and I'll drive around. Love you."

We hung up. More time to kill. I looked around. The woman across from me had reclined her seat and was reading a book. In the SUV, a small dog had appeared and was sitting upright on the driver's lap. Next to me, the woman was rubbing lotion onto her bare legs.

It was kind of awkward, all of us sitting there alone in our cars pretending not to see each other. A little like being uninvited guests in each other's living rooms. I fiddled with the radio. Read the signage (a $500 fine for feeding the birds although I didn't see any birds) Looked out at the sky. Every once in a while a plane flew overhead, roaring above us.

I was there more than an hour because my mom's bag was diverted to the wrong carousel, and I couldn't pull up to the terminal until she was ready to go. Several people who were parked before I got to the cell phone lot left in that time. Then the people who got to the cell phone lot after me began to leave. The woman with the lotion left, starting her engine up apologetically with a sidelong glance my way. I watched the hamburger man zoom off in my rear view mirror. Yet there I was still, fiddling with the radio, wondering about the $500 bird-feeding fine, looking out at the sky, watching the planes. It was kind of like standing around waiting for someone to ask you to dance. It feels like everyone else gets chosen first.

Then my mom called again. She had her bag. I felt like I should say good-bye to someone but we hadn't ever said hello. I turned my key, gave a little nod to the woman with the dog, and made my way out of the lot.