I offered to drive my daughter so she could spot her friend while I drove. She asked me if we could park and go in. I laughed, not because I wouldn't love to meet a first time traveler as she disembarked and avoid the thirty minutes we spent trying to connect with her once we arrived at the airport. That's the stuff of movies. Gone are the days of free passing beyond the ticket counter or the shops behind the ticket counters.
I told my daughter, "Airports killed romance." She asked what I meant and I explained how movies and TV shows always show people rushing into each others' arms as passengers exit the plane, but since we're not allowed to go further than the front area of the airport the scenes of romance have been killed.
The guy who leaps the gates and rushes past security in the movies would be chased and tackled, more likely tased. He'd be drug away in handcuffs and spend the next 48 hours explaining why he did what he did. Meanwhile the woman he was trying to stop from boarding the flight to marry another man, would never know he was going to profess his undying love to her. She'd have been married and on her honeymoon by the time he got out of the airport. And by the way, his car, which he left at the curbside of the departure area would have been blown up after the Bomb Squad arrived to check out the suspicious, abandoned car.
So much for romance.