The airport payphone holds a certain romance for me. Granted, it also likely holds a certain filmy, clammy, topical infection as well, but then again, isn’t that true of many romances too?

There was a certain window of time in America –before cell phones were omnipresent, yet after folks were no longer permitted to meet you at your arrival gate– when the pay phone inside the terminal was your welcome wagon, your first waypoint, the first chance to orient yourself in a sort-of-strange land, or to start to feel like you were home again.

So when I see these carousels of communication without their shiny cases of wires and keypads, it’s a little sad and troubling. I think we’re too reliant on communication through the airwaves. I think it’s nice to stop after all that motion, rest our feet on solid ground, put coins into a box, and look around while we get our bearings.

Categories: Sent Remotely
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