Airports are the Worst

I’m boarding in about an hour. Security was a disaster, as they insisted I remove my headphones, but after refusing multiple times, going to a room in the back, and confiscating all my weed no less, they let me through. They were probably baffled by why my headphones, with its two antennas, didn’t set off their metal detector. A glamour only goes so far to address a mortal’s endless curiosity. The wait has been relatively relaxing, though. I slipped on some panpipe melodies I wrote and dozed off once or twice.

I found this really delicious dessert called a Cinnabon. I’m sure they have some in Colorado, but I haven’t seen them. I asked the cashier what it was and whether there were more like them, and she gave me a strange look, as many of my questions often are, and said that they were usually in malls and airports all over the country. I didn’t have the heart to ask her what a mall was, but didn’t really care much either, because I knew there weren’t any near my cabin. My monthly subscriptions and Walmart runs were sufficient for my lifestyle.

Thousands of years with mortals, but even my creature habits hold me back from some of the more nuanced aspects of their daily lives. I will never understand why they seclude themselves in what they call developments, when they could be closer to nature, but then again, I’ve met many humans who feel the same way I do, so maybe I’m not more strange to people than they are.

I’m still a bit frustrated with Grandpa Zeus. I have no idea how he discovered Pan hadn’t actually died as the legends say. Nearly two thousand years of time to myself finally crashing down because he wants me to be “more in touch”? Like who could be more in touch with humanity than me? I’ve stayed under the radar for centuries living among mortals, even letting damn Ares push that atomic bomb without any interference from me.

I blame Woodstock. The summer of love was thriving, and I just couldn’t help myself and joined in. Either that, or Uncle Dionysis ratted me out. I can’t really blame him, though. We’ve always had the best of times together, and it’s not his fault he gets a little wordy when he’s under the influence. All the same, I’m off to Kansas to try my hand at a little farming. I should be a real asset, and after checking a few boxes and updating my LinkedIn Profile, maybe finally Zeus will get off my back and realize I’ve been in touch with humanity the whole time. I mean, come on, the kids these days are labeling their sexual orientation after me – Pansexual? Hello?!

I’ll just make it through a couple of months, then go back to my cabin with Rufus my dog in the beautiful Colorado mountains. My hooves hurt, and I really don’t want to have to keep putting up with all of this, but I guess I’ve had a long enough vacation from Olympus. Just a few months, and I can go home. Until then…

“Now boarding, Flight 167…”

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Pan (Rhett Martens)
Pan is and always has been at the heart of his scribe, Rhett Martens. In Rhett’s free moments from working as a web-developer, he writes fantasy, horror, and occasionally humorous biographies about his life as a previously homeschooled, evangelical Christian, turned flaming homosexual pagan (does that make me a witch on fire?). He shares way too many cats with his fiancé as they bounce from apartment to apartment. Activism, our environment, loving their cats, and accepting people of all orientations and genders is at the heart of who Rhett is, as well as who Pan might be in the 21st century.
Pan (Rhett Martens)

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  1. Welcome back nephew!

    I’m so glad you still enjoy the music of the flute I made you. I never cared for playing it much myself, but I must admit it was probably one of my most fun inventions. I can’t wait to hear you play again. Let me know when you settle into the OA building.

    Auntie Athena

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