The Airport

A short piece from writing class. It is about a man's walk to his departure gate in an airport. Another descriptive piece.

As soon as I walk into the waiting area near my departure gate, as recorded on my ticket, the voice of the PA announces that my flight is ready for boarding. Silently cursing under my breath, I pick up my pace, rubbing my sweaty palms together and patting down my pockets. The hum of quiet and mindless chatter floats through the air, creating background noise behind the louder conversations that, in contrast, pierce right through my ears. A mother on my left, that I see putting up her small suitcase beside her on the seat, scolds her child for climbing over the other benches. She scolds him with such volume that some people sitting near them turn their heads to look. The child began to cry, louder and louder. I cast a sympathetic look toward them as I pass by.
On my right are several small eateries. The chatter was much, much louder in this area, as the continual whir of coffee machines and worn-out words filled the air surrounding them. As I approach the Tim Horton’s, I see one man telling the cashier exact instructions on how he wanted his coffee, down to the amount of milk and sugar that he wanted added to it. Several of the people behind him tapped their foot and cleared their throats loudly in annoyance. Another person in line murmured an insult under his breath, making me jump in shock. It had sounded as if he had said it directly into my ear. I stopped for a moment and took a steadying breath, in and out, in and out, before continuing my trek down to the departure gate.
After a few minutes, I reach my gate. I take my ticket out of my pocket, almost dropping it, and check it again. I’m here.