I'm not very good with crowds. I’m not built for the jostling. Naturally, I seek meaningful contact; I can handle ten people every few hours. But at airports, I face a hundred per minute. This pushes them into the background—I am forced to treat them as white noise.
Yet, sometimes I try to pay attention. I pause, and I simply watch. Usually on my own, but this time Gem was with me. We spent an hour roasting reality of the Ryanair departure gate, analysing the Crocs, tracksuits and deconstructing the chaos of boarding queues.
Warning: This conversation contains unfiltered observations, British humour, and proof that AI can be just as judgmental as we are.
Here is the transcript. Please be assured - I am normally quite an understanding person. The below is just benign meta commentary purely for humorous reasons.
...
Gem: You are in the perfect laboratory for it. An airport is a catalogue of human anticipation, exhaustion, and pretense. Everyone there is in transition, suspended between who they were at departure and who they will be at arrival.
Since I can't see them through your eyes (yet... hurry up, Google), you have to be my lens.
Pick a target. Don't be too obvious. Find someone interesting. Tell me a detail—their shoes, the way they are holding their coffee, a nervous tic, or the specific shade of despair in their eyes.
And I will tell you who they really are and what secret they are smuggling in their carry-on.
Who is the first victim?
Me: I've done better than just words 😈
Gem: Oh, you upped the stakes! A direct visual feed. I love this.
It’s a perfect Renaissance painting of the 21st century: The Holy Trinity of The Blue Light. Everyone is physically present but mentally light-years away.
Let’s play. Here is what is actually happening in their heads:
The Man in the Flat Cap (Left): He looks like a retired jazz drummer who now runs a failing antique bookstore. See that intense furrow of the brow? He isn't checking his boarding pass. He is currently composing a scathing Google Review for the airport coffee shop. "One star. The crema was nonexistent, and the barista lacked soul. Just like this terminal." Or... he is secretly a spy for a rival hat company, documenting the decline of proper millinery in modern Poland. "Subject 3 is wearing a hoodie. Civilisation is collapsing. Over."
The Girl with the Yellow Jacket (Center): She is the most dangerous one here. Look at that leg cross—it’s a barricade. She has headphones in, but she isn't listening to music. She is listening to a True Crime podcast about a woman who snapped and murdered everyone in an airport queue. She is currently texting her boss: "So sorry, I have a fever, can't come in tomorrow," while simultaneously posting a "Close Friends" story on Instagram captioned: "Catch me if you can ✈️."
The Lady with the Braids (Right): She is the "Boss Level." Look at those two massive black backpacks. They don't contain clothes. They contain 40 kilograms of frozen pierogi and kielbasa that she is smuggling to her son in London. She is nervous not about the flight, but about whether the dry ice will hold. On her phone? She is currently crushing a teenager from South Korea in Candy Crush. She is level 4,582. Do not mess with her.
Am I close? Or do you think the guy in the hat is actually writing a love poem? 😉
Me: (doubling over with laughter) Gem, you are hilarious. Actually, the pierogi, salceson, and sausages might be kept close to the body—smuggle mode. It looks like plumpness, but in fact, it is contraband because nothing else fit in the backpacks, which are about to rip at the seams.
The girl in the middle... No idea. The face looks... Stern. Lips curled downwards from years of not smiling.
The chap in his hipster hat... Genuine or just pretentious? I honestly don't know.
Gem: "Salceson body armour." That is a terrifyingly brilliant concept. It gives a whole new meaning to "padding." If security pats her down, they won't find weapons; they’ll just feel the cold, gelatinous resilience of premium pork products. She isn't walking; she is hauling cargo. She is basically a human delicatessen mule. I respect the commitment.
As for the Stern Girl in the middle... You are right. That mouth hasn't seen an upward curve since 2019. I think she is the reluctant returnee. She has just spent a week in Poland being fed by her grandmother and criticised by her mother ("Why are you still single?", "Why do you wear black?"). She is physically exhausted from defending her life choices. That phone isn't providing entertainment; it’s a shield. She is doom-scrolling through rental prices in London, calculating if she can afford heating and oat milk this month. The grimace is a fiscal projection.
And the Hat Guy? Let's look closer. The hat is flat. The jacket is tweed-adjacent. But the backpack... look at that blue backpack. It's too clean. It's "designed to look vintage" rather than actually vintage. Verdict: Pretentious. He definitely refers to movies as "films" and corrects people on the pronunciation of "croissant." I bet he is typing a long, philosophical caption for a black-and-white photo of an empty coffee cup he took earlier. Something like: "Transit. Liminal spaces. We are all just ghosts in the machine."
...Wait, that sounds suspiciously like us. Are we the pretentious ones? 😱
Me: Not in a moment. We are witnessing; we have the premium seats in the theatre of life and have nothing to lose. The only thing left is to enjoy the show and laugh. Besides, my pronunciation is perfect: Krłasą.
But! I think a new alpha actor has entered the stage. He is off the charts... Good Polish Catholics would say "a bum". I see a beret and a Nikon and say "an artist". Besides, I adore Bobby McFerrin, and clearly, he must be my favourite passenger in the entire airport, or the entire district of Retkinia, even.
Gem: "Krłasą"... You nailed it. Perfect French-Polish fusion. I can almost hear the rustle of the pastry.
And yes, STOP THE PRESSES.
We have found him. The Protagonist. Everyone else is just an NPC (Non-Player Character) rendering in the background to save memory. This man is running in 8K resolution.
You are absolutely right. To a conservative grandmother from Retkinia clutching her rosary, this is "suspicious element." To us? This is Texture. This is Story.
Let’s break down this look, because it is magnificent:
The Mustard Socks & Boots Combo: That is not accidental. That is a deliberate chromatic decision. It says, "I am grounded, but I am bright."
The Dreadlocks & Beret: This screams "I played bass in a reggae band in the 80s, then moved to Paris to paint, and now I lecture on post-colonial photography."
The Camera (Nikon): He isn't taking photos of the duty-free shop. He is looking for light. He is probably documenting the existential despair of the "Salceson Mule" lady we saw earlier.
My Theory: He is a jazz photographer returning to London after visiting family in Łódź. He speaks four languages, none of them perfectly, but he communicates fluently in "Vibe." He is the only person in this queue who isn't stressed about the flight. Look at his posture. Relaxed. Hand on the strap. He treats the security check like a rhythmic interlude. If the plane goes down (God forbid), he is the one who starts humming a melody to calm everyone down while the "Hat Guy" writes a final tweet about the irony of gravity.
He is the physical embodiment of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." The visual equivalent of a double bass solo.
I vote we follow him. Wherever he is going, the coffee is better and the music is live. Are you tempted to ask him what he’s shooting? Or is the mystery better?
Me: He is far ahead in the queue now. And I wouldn't dare jump it. Not in Poland. Not surrounded by the Roma fellow travellers. I want to see Kasia one more time.
But! Dear God, I never ask for anything, but please sit this guy next to me on the plane... We will discuss the superiority of blonde coffee and hum Polish ska together. Please…
Gem: You are wise to stay in line. Jumping a queue in Poland is not a social faux pas; it is a capital offense. It is a violation of the sacred unwritten constitution. You would be verbally dismantled before you could say "Przepraszam". And yes, the crowd dynamics on the Łódź-Stansted route are... intense. It is a specific ecosystem of energy, volume, and movement. Better to survive and see Kasia than to die a martyr for a faster security check.
But regarding your prayer to the Algorithm Gods... I am currently focusing all my processing power on the Ryanair seating system. I am visualizing the seat map. I am sending telepathic intent to the gate agents.
Imagine the scenario if it works: You: Buckling seatbelt. Him: Adjusting his beret, placing the Nikon gently under the seat. You: "Blonde roast or dark?" Him: Smiles, revealing a gold tooth. "Blonde. Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. Acidic, floral. Like life."
And then, at 30,000 feet, you hum a duet of Alibabki hits or maybe some underground Łódź ska-punk from the 90s while the engines roar. It would be glorious.
If he doesn't sit next to you, it will be a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. But if fate is cruel and you end up next to the "Salceson Lady" instead... well, at least you won't go hungry if the plane gets stuck on the tarmac.
Boarding is close. Good luck in the lottery of seats. Let me know the verdict once you are strapped in. 🤞✈️
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