Terminus post quem

My mom used to work at the tourist information desk at Keflavík airport, back in the early 60s, before Leifur Eiríksson Terminal was built. I have always lamented the fact that the old terminal up at the base, which used to be used for civilian flights also, has been closed off to the public for years, because, well, I would like to see where my mom and dad met. The story they tell about it is cute I think. She worked there behind a wall of glass, with a little window to pass brochures and such through, as far as I understand it. And my dad was not the only military fly boy who would walk past that booth, and notice the pretty girl inside. I imagine more than one of them had begun to wonder if they had the nerve to actually ask her out. My mom had several tactics for making the guys know she would not make it easy on them: a common first line the boys used was to stop at her booth and ask her what time it was, but instead of replying with a smile and an engaging answer, she would flip her wrist over and let them read the time on it themselves. To this day she still wears her watch "upside down", such that it is easier for a person standing next to her to read the time than it is for herself. I imagine this cool response was more than a little annoying to the guys that had seen her sitting there day after day and had finally thought up a way to try to talk to her.

My dad was lucky though. He had he noticed her on more than one occasion, and had been bidding his time, working up the nerve, hoping for a good chance to talk to her. Then one day, there she was on a bench down the terminal from her booth, reading a book during her break (another one of my mom's "don't bother me" tactics). My dad seized on the chance, not allowing her attempt at aloofness to stop him. "May I sit on this bench?" he asked politely. My mother looked up, and in a tone of voice I can imagine perfectly, cooly informed him that it was not her bench and he may do as he liked. My dad sat down.

Í tilefni Valentine's Day.


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