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Flying and being at the airport are two of my favorite things to do (I am writing this on a plane from Los Angeles to Atlanta). I know it sounds like an odd kink, but something about the liminal space and betweenness of it all relaxes me. I can last two hours max in a car; put me on a plane, and I am set for 14 hours. This love was recently tested by a twisted little itinerary that took me from New York City to Grand Rapids, back to New York City to Berlin, and finally to Los Angeles.
I spent my entire forty-second birthday in the warm embrace of Delta Airlines. I woke up at the crack of dawn to make my way through Berlin’s awful airport, where the slow and methodical Germans make security take much longer than it should. The flight was uneventful. I slept, read, and watched Selling Sunset on my iPhone. Due to the itinerary I was forced to make a nice long stop in New York City before boarding the final leg to Los Angeles. There is nothing stranger than having time to kill at the airport in the city you live in. There’s never enough time to leave and return, so one must hunker in the lounge. Typically, I avoid the food and amenities. I look at the lounge and the thousands of dollars I have spent to access it (thank you American Express) as a place to charge my phone, drink water, and go to the bathroom without bringing my luggage along for the ride. This time was different.
I have been to the new Delta One Lounge at JFK a few times. It’s larger than any Sky Club on planet Earth, and offers all kinds of amenities—which are usually not readily available because fellow weary travelers always beat you to the punch, and the wait times are long. Typically it’s rammed with people piling their plates high, bellying up to the bar, or—my least favorite—sleeping in places they shouldn’t. But this time I was there on a Saturday afternoon in September, and things felt different. Fewer people, less noise. It was my birthday, so I decided to cross a new bridge, push myself into a new territory, and really let my hair down. No, I didn’t indulge in a brown butter chocolate chip cookie or relapse with a gin on the rocks. I took a shower.
I have always aspired to take a shower in a lounge. I shower twice daily as it is and nothing is more satisfying than washing the plane off. Something about it feels glamorous and grown up. Showing up to your final destination or early morning meeting feeling and smelling good is true luxury. I was escorted to my stall, which looked like another bathroom from the outside. It was like being in a very nice gym that is constantly cleaned. It was big enough to open my Rimowa Cabin Plus to access my dopp kitt and stocked with several plush towels and a robe (who is going to use a robe?) and even mouthwash. Before I turned the water on they took my clothes to press them. They even shined my loafers. I spread out and used my own products and left feeling clean but refreshed. I made myself an iced cortado and sent some emails before getting on another plane. It was the best birthday I have ever had.
