Airports are such weird places

I'm officially in Guatemala, safe and sound, no banditos yet, just creepy taxi guys*

The flights weren't that interesting, but the Dallas International Airport- full of all kinds of strange stuff.

For example, this Ipod vending machine. Apparently buying a $400 Ipod is as casual a decision as buying a $2.00 bottle of water at the neighboring machines.

And there are tornadoes in the bathrooms. Often enough to warrant a warning sign.

(sorry its sideways) (tornado)

The obligatory decorative art installation.

And giant candy.

There were also machines that rented out laptops, and even stranger ones that rented out charging capabilities- you just pay to open the appropriate little door that already has the specific cord you need, plug your thing in, lock it, and come back in a few hours. I don't know about you, but when i take electronics i take the cord. Obviously people forget, but enough to have a vending machine selling electricity?

These things may seem normal to some, but my scientific analysis concludes they are not. Airports are very strange places, like shopping malls, but even more disconnected from real life.

And of my time here so far, an excerpt from an email to my family-

.

.

"..they directed me outside, where immediately i was aggresively greeted by this one guy who just wouldn't leave me alone, luckily he spoke english and i told him i was going to dos lunas, so he backed off. Kind of. So i wasn't seeing the dos lunas van, and i hesitated too long, giving mr vulture the opportunity he needed to make a comeback. "Dos lunas, i know dos lunas, he's a friend of mine, but listen he's all the way over there, i am right here, you come with me, i give you internet and breakfast." OKay, so i have to talk to this guy. "I already am with dos lunas, so i'll wait for the shuttle, if it doesn't come then i'll talk to you. Maybe." At which point i walk away, i go straight for a security guard and ask him about Dos lunas, he says he'll call them for me for a tip. Fine. Anything to get rid of the vulture. He calls, no dice. They're full, okay, who d you recommend? El hotel de aeropeurto. El hotel de aeropuerto? Yes. I see the guy and start walking for him. Mr vulture makes one last desparate attempt, i cut him off- i'm fine thank you- and keep walking. This new guy seems much better, nice, polite, and a whole lot less of a creep."

.

.

*Karmic side note- as i was typing the ´creepy taxi guys´part above, i get a pat on the shoulder and hear in a friendly cadence "oh, so you made it here huh?" I look up. Its creeper vulture taxi man.

.

.

.