Here’s what happens when you get off the plane at the Springfield, Missouri airport at 7:30 on a Friday night. First, you don’t get to eat or drink because nothing is open (at 7:30 on a Friday night, mind you). Second: the airport is apparently owned by /sponsored by/or the birthplace of Bass Pro Shops. There are metal fish hanging from the ceiling. The middle part of the carpeting is blue; the edges brown: so you’re swimming/walking upstream or down, whatever, but you’re very definitely supposed to be in the middle of Nature.
And you’ll have to either hunt or fish your own dinner because nothing at the airport is open.
At 7:30 on a freaking Friday, not that I’m bitter.
At 7:30 on a Friday night, actually, when our plane pulled up at the gate, there were zero other planes. Which is weird, quite frankly. I suppose I shouldn’t…
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