Ukuleles and Airports: How I Got a Ride from the Airport from a Complete Stranger

Everyone hates airports. The waiting for hours. The security checks. The overpriced food. The crowds.  The rushing. Gate changes, boarding passes, carry-on luggage, boarding zone one, boarding zone two, boarding zone three; same lingo wherever you fly. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for "Zone one is now boarding."

Enter, the ukulele.

As probably the happiest instrument in the world, in my opinion, it's nearly impossible to radiate anything but happiness when you're playing it. The high pitches strings, the easygoing adorable rhythms in most strum patterns. Honestly, it's like the thing's made of an overdose of cheer at times.

Now think about playing it in an airport.

I am sitting in a packed waiting area near my gate in Atlanta. Not bothering to pay for internet, I'm bored out of my mind with an hour to spare. I glance around the waiting area. A few people are talking, several have some kind of electronic device planted in front of them, and most look as bored as I feel. The air feels stuffy, almost grey. I debate for a moment. Then the ukulele is out, my laptop is open with lyrics on the screen, and I'm playing and singing Ingrid Michaelson, Poison, and the Fleet Foxes on a tiny little soprano uke. Simple, goofy, and hello, there's a small Asian girl strumming away while you chomp on your overpriced burger from the steakhouse near gate B5. Dinner and a show.

No matter what airport I'm in, probably 80% of the time I'm feeling a bit like a weirdo, plunking away and singing in my own little bubble. I can feel people glancing up from time to time, pretending to keep to themselves politely, I honestly can never tell what people think at first. Is this pleasant for them? Maybe they're all praying for this to end.

Then, when I finish playing, something miraculous happens. A woman turns around and smiles, compliments my playing, and this breaks the dead atmosphere of the waiting area. Then another. The phones go in pockets, the laptops are momentarily forgotten. People seem to defrost from their frozen states of sloth and agitation and become living, breathing people again. I answer questions about the uke, and we ask each other where the other is headed. The sharing begins, and with a smile and a wave, each of us departs for our respective zone when boarding is called.

On my way to Philly, I played and sang for a sweet old couple who treated me like a grandchild, asking about my life and studies. Another trip, I got to talking and laughing with a man who swore he'd love to be my manager someday, telling me with a big smile to keep on playing my little uke and someday I'm sure to be famous. Yet for my favorite story, I didn't play in a terminal. The father I sat next to on my flight back to Florida was so kind, telling me stories of being in Boy Scouts and wanting his young daughter to learn an instrument, that I whipped out my ukulele on the plane itself and sang right then and there. He loved it so much that he offered me a ride with his family from the airport to the college, but with a little catch.

I don't think I've ever woken up and thought that I'd be sitting in a stranger's car in my college's parking lot, playing ukulele and singing for a father, his wife, and their eight year old daughter. They were absolutely lovely people and I was told I made their day. Though I doubt I'll ever see them again, I'm happy to have been a little dose of serendipity and received one in return.

Funny how ukuleles can do that.


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P.S. Have any of you heard some interesting stories from seat-mates on airline flights? Share your experiences in the comments below. :)