Caroline: Help me.
A-L: Where are you?
Caroline: At PDX. On Standby. With a two-year-old. Two flights have left without me.
A-L: Peace be with you. But I don't have any babysitting contacts at PDX. I'm assuming that's what you need?
Caroline: I'd take a gin gimlet. I've been here since 4 am.
A-L: Is there a bookstore near you?
Caroline: Not one that serves cocktails.
A-L: And you didn't bring a laptop so you could watch Magnum P.I.?
Caroline: One of the many things I forgot.
A-L: Well, Caroline, I suggest people watching. PDX is a great place for that.
Caroline: You're kidding. Surely LAX, JFK, LHR, CDG, NRT, MIA and IDO would be better spots for that.
A-L: How wrong you are. You won't find better than seeing folks who travel once every 15 years coming off a puddle-jumper from Cheyenne, Wyoming navigating the maze that is PDX en route to their connection to Springfield, Oregon.
Caroline: I suppose.
A-L: Once I landed at PDX and passed a man sitting in the waiting area holding a cat, who clearly did not want to be in this man's lap, or at the airport. You won't see that in Paris, or Rio, or Tokyo.
Caroline: Yeah, nothin' says "Welcome to Portland" like an angry/scared cat.
Kitty: Except maybe a thumb-sucking one.