Getting out of the plane, an employee points me towards my next gate. The airport is like a huge shopping mall: Starbucks and TGI Friday’s are next to Duty Free shops and Hugo Boss outlets. After pondering upon what to do in Miami International, and after figuring out the plan of the wing I’m, I start to walk towards a Starbucks to get my first coffee of the day. It’s 10h30 and the airport is abuzz with people. Families, couples, large groups. There’s a long line at the Starbucks and so I walk around to find another option. As I walk around I notice many Caucasian teenagers with identical t-shirts. It’s red and has the flag of the Dominican Republic on it. It took me a couple of looks to get what’s written on it: me amor es Jesus. I suppose, out of thin air and judgemental attitude, that this large group of kids is part of some kind of gospel mission in the Dominican Republic. After walking around for another few minutes I find a large Cuban-themed cafeteria. I immediately start looking for the espresso machines Cubans are famous for and find a coffeeshop in the cafeteria. I order 2 cortes and a ‘Cuban sandwich’, that strange but delicious mutant Cuban-American sandwich that’s more like a thick panini with loads of different meats, cheese and pickles. I pay with my credit card and give a dollar of tip. The cash lady says ‘Thank you, corazon, thank you me amor‘… am I the first one to tip today or is she just happy to see me? Then I start looking for my gate, and finally an electrical outlet to charge my phone.
What to do in Miami International : Meeting people
At my gate I find a large family of African-Americans. There are 5 kids: 1 who’s about 10, 2 who probably are around 8, 1 who’s around 3, and 1 girl who probably is around 18 months old. There doesn’t seem to be parents around. They’re shouting, screaming, dancing, stomping, running around, throwing things to each other, fighting, pinching, slapping each other; everyone except the little girl, who’s quiet and smiling, watching what I suppose is her brothers being boys; I think that’s what to do in Miami International. After a while, an old African-American man shows up, wags a finger, and then disappears again.
I’m still looking for an electrical outlet and find a large display that reads ‘charge your phone here!’, and it has 4 outlets on each side, one side facing towards the middle alley, one side facing towards a row of seats. There are phones plugged in each outlet on the first side, and a fat Latina teenage girl with an ugly pout on her face on the other side. She’s lying, her back against two seats, and her fat stubby legs perched up and covering all four electrical outlets. She does have an iPhone in her hands, but it’s not plugged in and she’s not using it. After looking for another 5 minutes I find a smiling African-American man next to an outlet: he sees me coming with my phone, extends a hand and plugs it in for me. I sit across from him, while I am still thinking what to do in Miami International.
Sitting right in front of us is a family of morbidly obese Caucasians. The kids – 1 huge 16-year old girl, 1 very large deaf boy who’s around 15, 1 girl who could be 14 but has the hugest breasts I’ve ever seen on a teen, and 1 girl who, surprisingly, is not fat, but is around 13 and is drinking an extra-large latte from Starbucks – are playing bluff sitting on the floor. The floor of the lounge area at my gate is littered with food, and a couple of water bottles and pop cans are lying around. Another two huge girls in their 20’s are gossiping about a couple they know who’s getting married. One is saying that it won’t last because she’ll cheat; the other one is pleading for her to give them a chance. Then, one of the largest men I’ve ever seen in my entire life comes, labouring, then sits down awkwardly on the floor next to the two tweens. After about 5 minutes of chatting with the two girls, he looks at me eating my sandwich, then tells the kids who are playing cards, “after your game, we’re going to find something to eat.” They quickly discuss what they’re feeling like and the man says, “Let’s try to find a Subway. Hey, you know what Subway are really good at? Salads. You can pick what you want from all their vegetables!” I find irony in what he says, and I smile a little bit, looking down at my sandwich and thinking about what to do in Miami International.
Behind the Huge family, I still hear the African-American kids. I turn around to look at them. They’re now, quickly and one after the other, walking towards a pillar in the middle of the lounge, then purposely crashing into the pillar and falling on the ground, like great stuntmen. Every time one falls theatrically on the ground in a burst of agonising screams, the other kids burst out laughing as loud as they can. I then see a mother – she wasn’t there last time I looked – and she’s screaming angrily at the quiet, cute little girl while the other kids are creating a serious ruckus.
The African-American man who was next to the electrical outlet is now leaving, so I rush to take his place before anyone can steal it from me.
Now in my new seat, next to me, a family of Mexicans is settling down. Three boys: one who’s around 14, one around 10, and one around 6. The older boy is rather fat, calm, and chats in a deep voice with his dad, who’s slim and slick, with a suave look in his eyes, and dressed in Ralph Lauren, jeans and polo shirt. His wife is an absolutely gorgeous, slim, sexy Mexicana who talks to her youngest, calmly and firmly. She seems to have Asian traits, which I find intriguing. She’s dressed in white from head to toe, with a belly shirt; I can see a few stretch marks on her belly, and I find that even more gorgeous and appealing. The middle kid is playing a game on an iPad and hasn’t even batted an eye since I changed seats. The youngest is full of energy and is bouncing in his seat. He then goes to the seat next to me and looks over my shoulder at my phone. “He’s not even playing a game”, he says, in a complaining voice, to his mother. She says “you can talk to him but don’t touch!” I smile at him and he goes to hold on his mom’s leg, giving me a shy stare. The mom laughs quietly.
Behind me, the African-American kids are boarding: their flight is heading to Kingston, Jamaica.
My flight will be full: there’s only one seat left on the whole plane. We’re entering pre-boarding and I’m starting to feel excited about leaving the thought about what to do in Miami International and being in Mexico City.
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