December 1, 2011 |
O'Hare on Thanksgiving Eve and I had made it through security in less than 15 minutes. Now was clearly the time to celebrate. I settled into a barstool at a vaguely depressing Chili's, squashed between the luggage of a man who clearly enjoys The Sharper Image catalog and a fellow who had just returned from wandering aroud India. And it was there that it happened: I had my first airport beer. I'm not an infrequent flyer, but the urge has never hit me as I schlup my bags through a terminal to sit down for a drink.