Being stuck in Atlanta has its downfalls (overpriced airport bars), but the scene at the gate is a pretty hilarious culture clash. The gates around ours are going to Dallas, Pensacola, and West Virginia, respectively, which translates into a whole lot of crying children and cowboy hats and terrifying floral print hawaiian shirts.
Our gate to Austin, on the other hand, is populated by approximately 80 tight-jeaned hipsters with ipods and greasy hair and the occasional guitar case, furiously typing away on their sidekicks/blackberries.
We stare at them, they stare at us. A woman going to Pensacola just gave an extensively tattooed guy at our gate a once over, and herded her three kids back with strict instructions to stay close. I cannot make this shit up. It's like the lower east side just descended on Disney World or something.
Next stop, the moldy hotel. Cheers!
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