The flight from Rome to Mexico City was 13 hours; although it was the longest flight I had taken in 20 years, I did okay with it.
However, the five hour layover in Mexico City began to wear me down. The domestic part of Terminal 1 was overcrowded with not enough seats to go around. The stress level was exacerbated by the airlines posting the gate departure information at the last minute forcing passengers to scramble to make their boarding.
I arrived at Gate 15 to see the gate signage pointing to Monterrey, not Guadalajara as the big board said. This wasn’t as easily resolved as it should have been. (Root level information like this should be readily accessible and noncontradictory.)
Almost immediately, the lassitude and discontinuity squeezed my guts. My brow was damp and my guts began to quiver. Vertiginous; my soul – still lost somewhere over the Atlantic – wavered and pulsed, feebly.
It hurt. I was weakened, my poor heart palpitating, my being, longed for death. To be anywhere else but this airport; mildly hallucinating, everyone within range taking on the feral cast of toothy dogs and other hungry beasts…