When you really want to fly, time doesn’t

I wish – oh God, I fervently wish – that I was not so intimately acquainted with LaGuardia Airport in New York. I spent a large collection of miserable hours there last weekend.

Today, on the busiest travel weekend of the year, thousands are having similar experiences in airports all over the country. Flights everywhere are no doubt being delayed, canceled, overbooked and switched to new gates in distant concourses and/or continents.

So today, I am going to answer the question: What’s a good way to kill eight hours in an airport?

The answer: There are no “good ways.”

However, there are “ways,” and I would like to share some of the strategies I used last weekend:

Have a leisurely dinner and drink at an airport watering hole: Yeah, I tried this at LaGuardia. I saw a place called the Jet Rock, which had “Monday Night Football” on the big screen. I sauntered through the place looking for a vacant stool. When I say “sauntered” I mean I lurched and stumbled, hauling a computer on my back and a suitcase-on-wheels behind me, smacking patrons rhythmically on the shins as I passed.

I finally found one empty spot, and proceeded to arrange my luggage around it. I climbed over my suitcase, sat on the stool and waited for service.

There was no service. Nor was there any menu. Surprisingly, I did not mind. I had eight hours to kill. The last thing I wanted was quick service.

An hour later, a waitress came by to take my order. I ordered the chicken sandwich and one of the 14 beers. She said they were out of that beer. I named another beer. They were out of that too. Finally, she said, “We’re sold out of beer.”

“All 14 of them?”

“Yeah. It’s been busy.”

Later, as I took a long, thoughtful pull on a glass of water, I was not particularly upset. After all, I had successfully killed two-plus hours.

Sample some of the local cuisine specialties: This turned out to be an excellent idea at LaGuardia. I had a Nathan’s all-beef hot dog. World class.

This turned out to be not so excellent at a layover at the Cincinnati airport. I found a place that served “famous” Cincinnati chili. I enthusiastically ordered a bowl.

Do you know what famous Cincinnati chili is? Neither did I. It turned out to be a pile of spaghetti noodles covered with what they call chili, but what I call sloppy-joe sauce.

I prefer the Texas variety of chili, but, frankly, it wasn’t half-bad except for a couple of miscalculations on my part. One, I should never have ordered raw onions on top of it. Two, I should never have embarked on a three-hour plane ride after introducing the entire concoction to my intestinal tract.

Find a couch and guard it like sovereign territory: Of course, when I say “couch” I am referring to those black, ripped, uncomfortable row-seats with the annoying armrests that prevent you from curling up.

However, I discovered that if you arrange your luggage correctly around one of those seats, you can actually stretch out in a semi-prone position. Unfortunately, you can never leave it, even for a bathroom run, or else someone will steal your spot. This is an especially serious problem if you have recently consumed Cincinnati chili.

Find some fellow travelers to chat with: This turned out to be the best time-killer of all. I induced two different people to tell me, essentially, their entire life stories. One was a graphics designer from Toronto, who conveyed a lot of information about both graphic design and Toronto. The other was a tall kid from Italy who was heading to a North Carolina high school on a basketball scholarship. I had no idea Italian high school basketball players were in such demand in North Carolina.

So, I was lucky to find some interesting people, but listen, my advice is: Don’t be choosey. In Hour No. 6 of an eight-hour delay, I would have settled for somebody telling me cute stories about their cockapoos. Every cockapoo story would have moved my flight time that much closer. Or should I say, my flight cancellation.