Yesterday my mother took me and the niños on a trip to the new Air & Space Museum. It is now one week before my much anticipated flight to Miami, so it seems fitting that I get reacquainted with airplanes before I go. (I haven’t been on one in more than 10 years.)
The architecture of the museum is very interesting. On the right is the observation tower.
When we went in, the very nice security officers informed me that they have a “no gum” policy so I had to spit out my chicle in the provided trash can in front of everybody. I had flashbacks to Spanish 101 in middle school.
To go to the observation tower you have to go DOWN a flight of stairs to the elevator, which I found strange, but it was very cool once we were up there. You could see planes coming and going from Dulles airport. Apparently the observation tower is very busy on the weekend, so I recommend going on a week day as we did. We almost had the whole thing to ourselves.
After that, we went down and looked at airplane after airplane. Honestly, I’m not that curious about the random details and history of the airplanes, but I found the way they were hung from the ceiling to be aesthetically pleasing.
Some airplanes were parked on the floor as well. The museum had a sort of modern warehouse feel which I liked. Very open floor plan. As you would suspect, most of the museum space is dedicated to airplanes, but there were helicopters, hang gliders, satellites and other such things, including this impressively big space shuttle.
After the niños tried a flight simulator, (I felt sick just watching), we stopped for lunch in the museum cafeteria. There were a few choices but we ended up getting McDonald’s. As expected, museum food prices are somewhat outrageous. The Big Mac meal was like $7. (No photo of the over-priced hamburger. I was hungry, sorry.)
The museum shop was also predictably expensive. (My oldest son began begging for the little package of $5 dehydrated astronaut ice cream. Chale! I told him to pick a 75 cent post card instead.)
On our way to the exit, my youngest son tested the unspoken “no running” policy, and lost. A security guard called after him, “No running, no running! We don’t want accidents in here!” … I chided my son and apologized to the guard before asking her where she was from because I liked her accent. This is always dangerous territory for a white person to enter, since this type of question can easily be taken the wrong way. The guard put a hand on her hip and said, “I’m from my mother, where you from?” I had to laugh because I suspected she was from New York like my father’s side of the family, and she gave a perfect response full of New York attitude. I shouldn’t have expected any less. Turns out she grew up in Spanish Harlem. When she found out I have family in Brooklyn, she became less defensive. We had a friendly chat and then parted ways. As we walked down the corridor towards the exit she hollered after us, “You got an accent, too, ya know!”
I laughed and waved, unsure of what exactly she meant in that moment. I thought about it and decided that maybe she just meant that the perception of an “accent” varies by who is doing the listening. To her, I’m the one with the “accent”.