Pt 36 Saved by a painted-mouth Starbucks Barista in the middle of an airport
Surviving Hazmat Suits, Nose Police, and Airport Madness and the cure of laughter.
Let me set the scene: I’m suddenly flung back into the chaos of modern air travel. Cue the pandemic flashbacks, the nose-pointers, the emotional support snacks… and just when I thought I might lose it entirely, enter stage left: a Starbucks barista wearing a mask so fabulously absurd it stopped me mid-meltdown and rebooted my entire attitude.
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I was rather happy to be walking in a Florida forest. It was just so different than an Arizona forest, whether it was the desert, lost in the pines, or the thick of Northern Arizona hiking up mountains with my daughter. In Florida, the air felt like soup in the summer, the bugs were plotting something sinister, and the trees looked like they came straight out of Jurassic Park. It was… an experience. But oh, was I loving the experience. So different than Arizona, so lush, so menacingly alive.
Speaking of Arizona, it was time for me to head back for some work and sneak in a little leisure. Part of our adventure is not only RVing but planes as well. In fact, sometimes we have to send each other info on what Park we parked the RV and which lot the car’s currently baking in, because one of us is leaving, and the other is flying in. Now some might call this pure madness. I call it…with great dramatic flair…pure adventure. However, I’ll admit it was complete madness doing this during the pandemic.
Because of our schedules, we would give each other updates on what the latest mask mandates were because they changed as frequently as gas prices. At first, it was any piece of cloth you could wrap around your face. Then it had to be an official mask. Then a double mask (there was no way in hell I was doing that). Then, I swear, the airlines were one step away from issuing personal oxygen tents and asking for your blood type at check-in.
I’m claustrophobic. Masks were a nightmare for me. And I am not going to get into the medical, political, or moral debate—but it felt like wearing a damp washcloth with a splash of waterboarding. And the worst part? Knowing full well that on a plane, those masks were doing absolutely nothing but fogging up our glasses and reminding us how questionable our last cup of coffee was.
I parked the car at the aiport and called Ernie, who was flying back to Florida the next day, to get the inside scoop. Paydirt! “If you’re eating or drinking, you can pull the mask down.” he said. “I did a lot of drinking.” We both laughed and it gave me an idea.
Naturally, I loaded up on party-size potato chips and water bottles so large they could double as free weights. And for nearly four hours, I held those things like sacred relics—taking the smallest nibble every fifteen minutes, one chip at a time, like I was auditioning for The Slowest Snack Eater Alive. I am happy that the planes are only aisle and window seat. Not a bad perk. I travel to the back of the plane, like I always do, 3rd row from the back. I got myself set up: party-size chip bag on the left, water on the right, headphones on, and ready to zone out on the whole absurdity of pandemic air travel.
I looked around—ah, sweet serenity. Back of the plane, not a soul in sight. The flight attendants closed the upper cabinets, and just about to close the doors when something appears at the front of the plane.
A being, marching down the aisle like something straight out of an X-Files episode, wearing a full white hazmat suit, purple latex gloves pulled high over her sleeves, a double mask, and a face shield so thick it could stop a meteor. I stared in awe. I mean, if you’re going to go full plague chic, at least commit to the aesthetic I think to myself. Ok, I am full on judging here. Where were the black rubber boots? The biohazard beanie? Or the hoodie? Was she unaware of the microbial horror living in airplane carpets? The seats? The pull down tray? As someone who studies microbes, that is a full on biochemical warfare going unnoticed.
I was still deep in judgment when I realized she was headed my way. And I must have offended some karmic deity, because she slid right into the window seat of my otherwise empty row. I blinked. I looked around at the 8 empty rows. I blinked again. She puts her seat belt on. I blinked again. You’re dressed for the apocalypse… and you choose to sit next to me?
I should’ve moved. I didn’t. I should have. Why didn’t I move?
I had my mask covering my mouth, my potato bag clutched protectively on one side, my water on the other. I felt a glare. I didn’t want to look, but I did. She raised her hazmat arm, curled her purple-gloved fist into a pointer finger, and jabbed toward her face. I blinked again. No clue what she meant.
So naturally, I pulled my mask down and quirked, “What?”
She replied through the muffled fog of double masks and plastic, “Nose.”
Nose? Oh. She wanted me to cover mine.
I suggested she relocate to another seat. She summoned the flight attendant. He asked me to pull up my mask. I did. Over my mouth. Not the nose. Game on.
Every time I reached for a chip or a sip of water, she called him over, twelve times. The last, he asked if there was anything wrong with my mask. “No sir,” I said sweetly. That was that. She spent the next couple of hours glaring at me. All I could think was how could someone spend 3 hours on a plane with nothing to do but glare at another person? That is all she did. Spooky.
I am surprised she was only glaring. I mean, come on. If you are dressed for the apocalypse would you not be freaked out to be sitting next to someone with an overly large bag of potato chips, arms in the air, taking small bites every fifteen minutes and spewing air droplets all around them? Would that not be enough to move to one of the other empty eight rows?
It was an interesting, and mildly traumatic experience. But I’m grateful to report that no air marshals were involved in the making of this story. No, just me, my sore arms, and a face mask locked in a relentless game of peekaboo with my nostrils. We did it.
I had finally made it to my connecting airport, leaving Hazmat Lady behind like a discarded Clorox wipe in seat 134-A.
Shuffling through the terminal like a disgruntled zombie, chip bag wedged in my armpit and crackling like a guilty conscience, I made a much-needed pit stop at Starbucks. And after what felt like an eternity in line (possibly two eternities, if we’re counting emotional damage), my turn finally arrived.
I wasn’t paying attention, fumbling with my knapsack, chip bag and trying to look over the ridiculous mask into the depths of my bag for my wallet, I looked up. The barista had her back turned. I fumbled with my phone trying to get my digital boarding pass to go away, whilst trying to contain my bag of chips like it was a rogue balloon…. “Can I help you?” the voice said.
Without looking up (how rude) I mumbled, “Just a small coffee, please, and these…” throwing 3 marshmallow treats on the counter while grabbing my wallet, still not looking up (rude, I know).
But when I did…
Silence.
I froze.
And then I exploded into laughter.
Not a polite chuckle. No, no. This was a full-blown, can’t-breathe, borderline-snorting, tears-running-down-my-face, level laugh.
The barista, bless her magical soul, was wearing a mask with full, technicolor brightly painted lips and nose that didn’t even come close to matching her own face and yet it did.
I bust out laughing again.
And the nose ring? More laughter.
It was like being greeted by a Picasso painting in 4D. More laughter.
I couldn’t help it. It was unexpected. It was surreal. It was EXACTLY what I needed. I have included the picture and I am sure you might be saying I don’t get it? And, quite frankly it is not that funny now, but in that moment there was nothing more comical than that mask.
I am in fits of laughter. She looks at me, confused but kind, as I gasped-snorted out, “Your mask… it’s SO funny…” More laughter. “so creative!”
She blinked. That blink sends me into another round of hysteria. The line of onlookers not amused at all. After all it is a Starbucks line. I laugh some more.
“You don’t know what you look like right now?” I choked out between laugh-sobs. She shook her head, and my knees actually buckled with another fit of laughter. I asked if I could take her photo. She said yes. I showed it to her.
And that’s when she lost it too.
There we were two strangers in a Starbucks, in the middle of an airport, cackling like lunatics while the longer line of weary travelers behind us grew increasingly unamused. But I didn’t care. Because for that moment, the world wasn’t a chaotic carousel of mandates, judgment, lunatics and sore chip arms. It was two humans, laughing over a ridiculous mask and the times it represented.
I paid for my coffee, water and three marshmallow bars (don’t judge me—it was survival food), and thanked her for the cosmic reset button she didn’t even know she gifted me.
That moment carried me right onto my next flight. And I think karma approved of the new vibe, because I had an entire row to myself. No stink-eyes. No nose-pointer gestures. Just me, an oversized bag of crushed chips, 3 marshmallow bars and enough water to ensure I would be up all night peeing and Netflix queued up. Mask technically “on.” Potato chip diplomacy fully intact. At least on this flight I did not have to keep my arms up.
And that is how a painted-mouth mask reminded me that sometimes, the best way to breathe… is to laugh like a lunatic in line at Starbucks. OK, well not that best place to do so. But, I needed that.
In the thick of all the pandemic madness, the ever-changing rules, the performative sanitization, the mask-policing, and hazmat couture—it wasn’t hand sanitizer or social distancing that saved my spirit. It was humor. Unexpected, delicious, ridiculous humor.
Maybe that’s the cosmic lesson in it all: that even in the most absurd, uncomfortable, and downright stupid moments, life will toss you a little comic relief when you need it most. Not to fix everything. But to remind you that you’re still human… and still capable of joy.
Have you ever had a moment like that? Please share with me in the comments. I could use some more fits of laughter!
I arrived in Phoenix in better spirits than I had leaving Florida. Lighter. Clearer. And with a renewed appreciation for strangers sharing a moment, and the healing power of uncontrollable laughter.
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Thank you for tuning in and reading this. I super appreciate you.
~Karen
Great trick with the slow snacking!
We didn’t travel during that strange time. But I saw plenty of mask shenanigans of course! My one supervisor ordered a set of masks with famous people”s faces and rotated through them for weeks. It was so bizarre seeing his fake lips not moving while he was talking.
funny. saw a few masks like this during planned-demic in FL! most did NOT wear masks. I have exemption from all masks and "vaccines" written on govt document as I worked for VA during "covid".