So, if the group of rabble-rousers in the tiny gate here at the St. Paul/Minneapolis airport is any indication of the folks I'll be meeting in the capital of America's heartland, I am in for quite an experience. Let's take this smattering of Lincolnites (I'm assuming) as a microcosm for the city itself.
To my left we have a very well-put-together lady of about 65 who's been choking on something for the past 6 or 7 minutes, a young man about my age with a t-shirt and asics, unassumingly reading Nietzche or something (just kidding, I can't see what he's reading...he doesn't look like the philosopher type. It's more likely Dean Koontz--and that's not me not giving him enough credit. I happen to like Dean Koontz and his semi-soft-pornographic horror novels), and finally a business-lady-type wearing a suit and heels, which makes me feel like a schmo.
In front of me is a 400 year old woman and self professed "not-a-very-good-traveler" as she asked asinine questions of the Northwest woman at the gate. She's got very large, pristine white sneakers on despite her petite frame. Next to her is a gentleman with mountains and moons on his shirt and some sweet cowboy boots. That's it. Lots of old folk and a college student. Pretty good representation of Lincoln I've been told.
Let's not forget the aforementioned Northwest gate-woman who's chatting with the flight attendant.
NW lady (heavy Minnesota accent): oh, you're here early, aren't cha?
Flight attendant lady: yah, well, ya know, I like to be here early so i don't have to run around and rush.
NWL: oh yeah. ..Is your lip bleeding?
oh good, the pilot just showed up. He's approximately 12 years old.