Dear Concourse A in the El Paso International Airport,
My plane takes off from Concourse B, but I have a three-hour layover here and there are only a handful of eateries and shops in the immediate area. After an hour and a half of looking longingly at overpriced M&Ms bags and puzzling over a variety of nick-nacks, such as the following:
exploring Concourse A seemed like a really good idea. After all, this is an international airport. Surely Concourse A, which houses American Airlines, would be far more awesome than the store selling the Chihuahua in a taco and $7 bags of gummy worms.
You were shrouded in mystery, Concourse A, the kind of mystery that lifts the hopes of weary and bored travelers. What could you possibly contain? Eateries of better quality than Pizza Hut and Quiznos? A sandwich that costs less than $11? Peanut Butter M&Ms? I didn’t know, but I wanted to find out.
So, I walked the short distance across the airport to find you, hoping that you would at least host an interesting book store or people worth watching.
Imagine my disappointment when I reached the end of the hall, having passed only a lame sports bar and a newsstand along the way, and found gates and seats and no excitement. You failed, Concourse A. Your contents are as vapid and empty as anything Carson Daly is involved in. There is nothing here that is remotely entertaining.
I mean, at least the shop in Concourse B had a Chihuahua wearing lipstick and false eyelashes.
Why can’t you be more like your little brother, Concourse A?