Daisy Bateman

I Guess We’re Not In Kansas City Anymore

As you may have already guessed, I made it out of Missouri safely, via what may be the nation’s cutest airport. Seriously, there’s a cornfield next to the Dollar Rental Car. Also, the security checkpoint is directly in front of your gate, which I believe is one of three on hand. I kid, but really, it was clearly an airport that dated to a time when you could park your car at the curb and come in to see someone off, possibly all the way to their seat.

And I had plenty of time to examine the facility, since I had been off rather significantly in both my memory of when my flight was leaving and how long it was going to take to get there, so I had about an hour and a half to get familiar with the place. I spent some of the time being the sole patron of the only available restaurant, with a terrible food and a very nice waitress, who brought me a whole glass of milk for my tea and told me she’d made my table #7, since I was the first customer of the day.

“I always make the first one lucky number seven, no matter where they sit.”

Which was nice, though to be honest, I would have been happier with a lucky not-microwaved-from-various-packages-of-frozen-things meal, but then I suppose that’s just my slickster big-city ways talking.

At any rate, Kansas City was a fine place to visit, and I would recommend it to anyone looking for a medium-sized Midwestern city to attend a wedding in. Be sure you try the barbecue.

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