Four minutes before the flight was scheduled to arrive from Denver, Colorado, I slipped inside the airport terminal. Stopped. Looked around. Walked up to the computer screen to check on arrival times. Except for the two high school boys working at the car rental booths to my left, I was the only person in the airport. Maybe I missed my brother’s arrival? Maybe I was too early?
But, no. I was right on time.
This is what it can be like flying into Montana’s biggest city from one of Western USA’s biggest cities. Only five people got off the plane. After retrieving suitcases from the baggage terminal, we were advised to take our time walking out to the parking lot. Seems that Joe, the parking lot attendant, had to walk out to his toll booth so we could stop and pay him to open the exit gate.