A Night at the Geneva Airport

This vignette requires me setting the context. For the previous six months, I lived with my colleagues and friends, Kyle and Sebastian. While in Ghana, the three of us shared an office. As the sun would set, our office became our bedroom, grabbing seat cushions to pad the floor. So it is fair to state that I quite literally spent every waking and non-waking moment of the past six months surrounded by Kyle and Sebastian. The running joke (or depressing realization) was that we spent more time with each other than we will spend with any future partner. Following our stay in Ghana, Kyle and I backpacked through southern Europe – continuing our streak of inseparability.

With that in mind, it was time to leave Madrid and fly home. Thankfully there was a layover in the Geneva airport. Arriving at 11pm, the flight to the United States would not be leaving until noon the next day. Unthankfully, for me, I felt unusually sick and incredibly dehydrated. With my body rejecting reality, I decided to throw down big bucks to get a hotel room. So I began calling local Geneva hotels. Not a single hotel had a single room available, so it looked like airport slumber was inevitable. Fighting ninja germs throughout the night, I was just thankful to be alive come morning.

With delirium circling my head like rain clouds, I spotted an airport pastry shop. I signaled to Kyle through inaudible mumbles that we should go there for a croissant and coffee. Staggering over to the Coffee and Friends (so very appropriately named), I turned around only to discover that Kyle was nowhere in sight. Thinking to myself that he must have stepped aside to go to the bathroom, I decided to wait for a few minutes. After about ten minutes, still with no sign of Kyle, I began to wonder whether or not Kyle thought I was pointing to the I’Arc-en-Ciel instead. Fifteen minutes into waiting, I give up my search for Kyle. I decided if worse came to worst, I’ll just proceed through security and meet him at the gate.

Well twenty minutes passes, and I finally realize that the reason I can’t find Kyle is because Kyle has never been with me in the Geneva airport. I was travelling by myself back to the United States. I was just so used to Kyle and Sebastian being in my every-minute that It didn’t occur to me to think I could be the next John Nash. Embarrassed by my delusion or onset of schizophrenia, I took my coffee and found an empty airport seat and sat in silence for the next six hours. I haven’t felt this doltish since my friend Ed.