My Stay at LAX - Installment 1: EGO BOOST!

"I hate this airport so much," I mumble to myself at I stand in line for my baggage. Mainly I hate it because it's just so big, and also because when you enter the United States you have to reclaim your luggage and then send it through again, and it just so happens that LAX was the airport I had to do it in. It's just such a hassle. (Hello! The bags have been totally separate from anyone on the plane, what am I going to do with them? In fact, it's probably safer to just send them straight on through to wherever the people are going. Less contact = less of a chance for anyone to plant a bomb on one of them.) But, I think to myself, maybe I'll learn to love it. After all, I have a whole FOUR hours to get to know it.

After going through the whole pointless bag thing, I head outside to catch a tram to Terminal 5. Once inside, I decided to do one of my favorite airport activities - window shop like I really have the money. After checking out Hermes and Chanel, I go into a DFS. Inside are possibly the three most beautiful boys I have ever seen. I'm talking visual royalty! None of them were very old - between 18 and 20 I'd say. All had the dark features of a Spaniard, and were dressed in matching, navy blue suits. (No, they were not pilots.) I'm just walking around doing my thing, when I notice one of them has been watching me for the past ten minutes. I smile at him, and then just keep moving around looking at different things I'm not even considering buying. I come around a desk and notice that now all three of them are watching me, but the other two are not as intent as the first. It seems to be one of those, "Look at her!" moments we're all so fond of. (Maybe I haven't told you this, but I'm obviously a pretty big deal to those Europeans.) I smile again, and turn away to look at a scarf. Finally I leave the store, the one guy watching me as I go. Once I'm out and even down the hall a couple steps, I look back through the window. Sure enough, there he is. He raises a hand and waves. I smile and slightly nod.

That's not all of it either. About 15 minutes later the boys walk by while I'm seated on a wall, leaning against a pillar talking to Paul and Everett (don't worry, there's definitely more about those two later on) and the one nods to me. I nod back. Again, later, he walks by - same sequince. Finally, one of his friends pulls him up to me and they both blurt out, "Can you speak Spanish?" I appoligized and said no. The friend said, "Okay," and walked away holding the other's arm.

SPANISH?! Good grief! Why couldn't they be Ukrainian, or Russian, or something?! A kid that is infatuated with me before he even meets me, and he had to speak SPANISH! Ah well, I guess I was never meant to be.