Prague: 1: Pre-Departure, O'Hare

As is customary, my obsessive need to embark upon a chosen course of action at the earliest convenience (really, in my ideal world I'd be able to act upon decisions the moment that they're made) has resulted in a typically early arrival at the airport. It is four hours before my plane departs, and I have already checked my bag, cleared customs, and deposited myself into a restaurant seat.

The restaurant of choice is billing itself as Italian. This is an assertation that - while it lacks support in the food itself - is strengthed by the fact that several members of the waitstaff appear to speak a foreign language. What that language is - precisely - is relatively unimportant in the mind of most of the diners that pass through. Assumptions will be made, and perhaps the food might be more favorably received as a result.

My waiter is a handsome young man with an accent that definitely could be Italian. He is very polite, and I am very polite in return. I order minestrone soup with a side of waffle fries. They arrive in mere minutes. I notice that this is the norm at this restaurant - no doubt a necessity when a restaurant is located within an airport. I imagine that the alternatives - anger, walking out without dining or without paying a tab - have forced this efficiency. I wonder if my waffle fries were partially fried, then re-dipped in oil for a warm-up before they appeared in front of me. The prospect sounds delicious.

The tables around me are filled with a mixture of single diners and a few couples. The common theme, I see quickly, is detachment. Those who are not immersed in a book are immersed in their PDA. I feel a bit of sadness for the waiters, interacting with these shells of people who can barely tear their eyes from the media in front of them. They barely glance at their food before they start eating, looking briefly only to secure the latitude/longitude so that they can reach for - and eat - without actually looking at it.

In an effort to compensate, I double my politeness efforts with the waiter and attempt to make eye contact with all staff members. Based on the gradual uneasiness that they each seem to develop, I decide that such behavior is now construed as "strange," which only serves to reinforce my concerns. At the end of the meal, I thank the waiter profusely, leave a generous tip, and pick my way between the tables of people. No one looks up.