Energizer Batteries on a Dreary Day of Travel

Waiting in an airport can be a cathartic experience. This is what I realized sitting in Terminal A of Manchester-Boston airport in Manchester, NH (why Boston decided she needed to be thrown into that name I’m not sure). It was February, and a cold one at that. The light pierced through the slit in between the grey curtains that separated the cold world from the bubble of the airport.

To me, it seems, people are very much themselves at an airport. This is because, in my experience, many don’t care what others think of them while they are in transit. This is to say, why should one put on a face and try to impress when they will never see their fellow passengers again? I think this accounts for screaming men whose flights have been delayed and women in sweatpants and ponytails.

I don’t say women in sweatpants and ponytails generally, because that was the exact specimen that walked by me. She was short and had a young face. Her ponytail was dark brown, and as she walked by and farther away, I noticed the bright pink color of her sweatpants. She wasn’t very pretty.

She walked over to a booth that sold electronics. Headphones, batteries (lots of batteries) and phone chargers studded its shelves. Much of it was overpriced and excessive. The man working at the booth served as both its cashier and its salesmen. I do not think it would be a pretty sight if more than one customer showed up.

The man was old and to me this was peculiar. The age was in his sad face. His wire rimmed glasses sat in front of old, green eyes. He was a New Englander, and that was for certain. He wore a blue and red flannel shirt with corduroy pants that barley touched the top of his penny loafers. This struck me as odd too, because generally airport workers are in uniform, whether it be a security shirt or a Dunkin Donuts shirt, but this man was just in regular clothes.

It also occurred to me, much out of prejudice from my own experience, that an older person shouldn’t have been working in a technology booth. They just didn’t understand what they were doing. I feel like much of what he knew was told to him by some younger, higher up.

I felt bad for this old man, because I don’t like to see old people working. If I were that age, I reasoned, I wouldn’t want to be working. Especially at a technology booth in the airport. But it was so and there was nothing that I could do about it.

As I sat and pondered the life of this man, he asked the girl with the sweatpants if he could help her. She perused the selection of headphones, trying some samples on here and there. No, she was just looking. She was very rude. After a few minutes she left the booth and continued walking down the terminal on the gray and navy patterned floor. The man sat on a stool next to the register. He looked bored. I felt sad for the man.

In the following seconds, another traveler walked up to the booth. I had seen him sitting down on the other side of the terminal waiting for a flight. This man wore a navy business suit and held a rolling briefcase, that I’m sure housed his important things. He looked around at the selection of electronics.

The volume of the airport picked up due to a plane unloading in the terminal, making it harder to hear. It seemed as though the older man asked if the business man needed help, to which the business man asked about headphones, for the older man immediately began recommending headphones. He showed him the samples, fitting the headphones perfectly to the man’s head size. They tried about four pairs of headphones. Meanwhile, other people walked by the electronics booth, looking at the selection. But upon seeing the busy salesmen, they walked off.

The businessman was at the booth for about ten minutes. There were five potential customers that were consciously ignored out of the salesmen’s priority for the client at hand. After trying on what he needed to try on, the businessman left without even making an offer. He had no intention to buy anything and wasted this poor man’s time. This was irritating.

Trying to get my mind off of things I scanned the other side of the terminal and smelled the coffee shop of the other side of the booth. It was foreign coffee that smelled strongly. But despite the olfactory distraction, I couldn’t resist turning back to look at the man at the electronics booth.

I felt really bad for him. I was sad that he was rejected by the girl and angry that the businessman wasted his precious time. In an effort to make myself feel better, I scanned his hand for a wedding ring. If he’s married, I reasoned, then that will be good. Unfortunately he looked forward and I saw him from the side, so I only saw his right profile. Maybe he felt my concerned looks and he eventually turned around.

He was married. This made me feel good and relieved. At least, I thought, he had someone that he could turn to, someone that he could be with.

But then, my thoughts continued to go south. What if, I worried, his marriage was a bad one? What if he didn’t even like his wife?

I needed to make this all better. I reached down and dug around my bag for some money. I came up with sixteen dollars. This could work I figured. I got up and walked over towards the technology booth. The man was sitting on his stool next to the register, waiting for the next disappointment.

I walked up and began to look at the selection. The booth itself was unimpressive. It was very small, smaller than I thought. There was also dust on both the shelves and the products.

I took a look at the old man. Close up, he looked older and greyer than he did before. His glasses were smeared with fingerprints and looked dirty. His shirt had a stale brown coffee stain on the left side. As I examined him, he asked me if he could help me with anything. His voice was raspy, but warm.

“Yes, I’m looking for some batteries,” I replied.

“Oh alright, well what kind?”

I didn’t know what kind. “Double A, please.” He then showed me to the double A batteries. There were only two brands, and each brand had different packages with different amounts of batteries. He recommended Energizer. To me they are all the same. I looked at the selection of Energizer batteries and chose the biggest pack, the 6-pack. It cost seven dollars.

“I’ll take two of these,” I said.

The man lit up with the excitement of making a sale. He asked me if that was all and took my two packages of batteries to his register and began to punch numbers. His bony fingers slowly selected the numbers. He used a little hand calculator to factor in the taxes.

“Your total,” he said, “is fifteen fifty-three.” I handed him my money and he gathered my change. He put the batteries into a white plastic bag and held out his hand with an array of discolored change. “Thank you for stopping by!”

I smiled and walked away with my useless batteries and worthless change. I began walking towards my seat and realized what I had just done. Well rather, what I hadn’t just done.

It dawned on me what became of my effort to help this poor old man. Nothing. I didn’t do anything. My purchase of Energizer batteries will have no effect on his life. In fact, if anything, I have fed into what has put him where he is now.

In the airport full of people, I felt so alone. As I leaned back in my chair, my plane began boarding. I put the batteries in my backpack and got on the plane.

Some months later, I found that backpack that I used on that trip. Inside were the untouched batteries in that lame white plastic bag. Luckily at the time, I needed some batteries for my electric toothbrush. I opened up the package of Energizer batteries to find that their shiny, silvery coating had already crumbled into dust, like the dust on the booth they came from. I threw the batteries away and thought of the old man, whom was probably still sitting in the airport, still selling the batteries.