The computers are down for Delta Air Lines at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport on a Sunday night, and an already angry post-Election society spills over into the Delta Sky Club, where those who can afford the $450 annual fee for unlimited booze and coffee are taking cover from the masses already sleeping on floors. I’m concerned it won’t be long before businessmen will start engaging each other, swinging plastic display poster roll up tubes in a battle to the death to get the last scoop of trail mix and dribbling of well bourbon before flights to Hibbing, Duluth, and Fargo come back up on the big board. Don’t be fooled by the genteel nature of those drinking from a glass, it’s about to get ugly with the front desk when the bottles start flying. Some of the elderly in here must be “holding” oxycodone, so they’ll be doomed soon enough. 

The horror outside in the general gate areas must be getting more grotesque by the minute, as the handicap carts narrowly miss unsuspecting infrequent flyers. A hipster glides by me, having already chewed holes in his Burberry scarf, a wild look in his eye searching for a latte or IPA. I think of tripping him with the handle of my cane just to match the rising tide of aggression, but he’s too fast, and I doubt if he is carrying a lot of cash- cash I’ll need in case society collapses tonight before the Delta network morphs into SkyNet and launches every nuclear missile around the world. I should be OK, here by the fire, in Sky Club, so I’ll just wait it out. Or at least until my flight is ready for Grand Forks, ND in 2 hours.