Presumably due to magic in the air (magic being shorthand for jet fumes), the terminal turns people into remarkable multitaskers. Where else can somebody manage to loudly FaceTime their uncle on speaker while removing their shoes, eating 12-piece bucket of KFC, letting their “therapy dog” shit on the carpet, taking up every single plug within a 10-foot radius, and systematically unpacking and repacking their overstuffed carry-on bag in the middle of the floor. This is not your living room. Keep quiet, be courteous, and try not to air out your feet.
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