I’m notoriously early when it comes to flights. Even during off-peak times, I regularly arrive at the airport more than two hours early on a domestic trip. Because of my arrival anxiety, I have a lot of downtime at airports, which I spend (and this happens often) drinking in an overpriced Irish pub or relaxing in a lounge. But on my last trip through the border area of Los Angeles International Airport, I didn’t drink (Dry January) and there was no lounge (nonsense). But there was a gameway.
According to Gameways, it is “the world’s first premium airport video game lounge.” Company website, and there are two at LAX. Their slogan is, “Why wait when you can play?” and honestly, it’s good. On my last trip I was chatting with an employee at Terminal 3, but this time I’m at Terminal 6 and decide I’m going to go play, damn it. I have Priority Pass, a card with an annual membership that gives me access to airport lounges so I can enjoy 30 minutes of Gameway gaming for free. Normally it costs $16 for 30 minutes of play (not even enough to squeeze in a round). Overwatch Comp), $26 for up to an hour and $46 for the entire day.
What’s it like to play video games in an airport lounge? Well, let me tell you.
Playing in an airport
As I wait in line to show my Priority Pass, a father and his three elementary-aged children argue about prices. A hulking Master Chief looms over me. “Do you have Fifa“?” the youngest son asks while the other two argue, his gaze barely reaching over the countertop to his crotch. A few people crane their necks into the futuristic room, curious about the source of the cool lighting and schoolyard noise. Worried or confused about whatever gameway is, they quickly roll their suitcases out the door.
The father and family arrange a session (half an hour, but with three children and the necessary snacks, the total comes to around $150) and are directed to their play stations. Then it’s my turn. “You get a free drink and a snack, but the energy drinks cost more,” the Gameway employee tells me. A glowing fridge full of sugary concoctions sits out front, fl anked by bags of chips and candy on either side. I grab a Topo Chico sparkling water (there’s no alcohol like the other location, but I don’t drink anyway) and a double pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups.
“Can I log into my own account?” I ask as I unwrap a peanut butter cup, determined to feed mine Overwatch 2 Looking for competitive mode. “Yes,” the clerk replies, quickly turning to explain how Gameway’s charge boils down to a smartly dressed businessman. A child climbs over my suitcase to get to a station his mother doesn’t want to pay for. “Honey, it’s too much. Our flight leaves soon.”
As the child is reluctantly led out, I sit down in a gamer chair, log in to my Xbox Live account, put on the green and black Razer headphones, and am immediately transported to a location outside of LAX. It’s not exactly my living room, but I definitely don’t feel like I’m sitting in an airport terminal waiting to board my JetBlue flight home. Even with the occasional childish screams and screams that come through my noise-cancelling headphones, I find myself in a state of zen that only gaming can give me. That is, until I actually start playing Overwatch 2Naturally.
Overwatch Playing in an airport
I’ve written extensively about how much of one nightmare Overwatch 2 Competition mode isand with that recent layoffs at ActiBlizzI’m not sure if and when the mode will be fixed. At the moment, there’s little transparency around when and why you level up or down, and the matchmaking itself feels uneven, resulting in matches being either too easy or too hard. Still, I can’t stop participating in the Sisyphean task of trying to advance from gold to a rank worthy of my support stats. The desire to prove my Overwatch The value is so strong that I’ll play competitively in a damn airport for god’s sake.
Gameway feels like a safe place for gamers in a busy, aggressively lit airport, so I quickly get used to playing and behaving the same way I would at home. I line up for a comp match in the tank role and refuse to play support because of course my best role is the one with a rank that least reflects my skills – how am I a gold support player? Rank than I once was? a globally recognized Moira? I don’t need the toxic energy I bring to support games in this space for all ages.
But just a few minutes into the game, I reprimand my Moira for playing DPS instead of healing me, and tell Mercy to stay with me to make sure I stay in my D.Va ‘Mech long enough to make a difference. I roll my eyes, sink back into my chair in frustration, and slap my hand on my leg every time I get killed – I don’t realize I’m being loud until I notice people staring out the corner of my eye.
I take off my headset, smile sheepishly and explain, “It’s Comp,” but the girl who wants to hit on Fifa doesn’t know what that even means, and the young man who works is trying to make sure a six year old gets his Dr. Pepper doesn’t fall on the fresh, white counter. Embarrassed, I sink a little in my seat and start whispering orders instead of shouting them. Luckily, I haven’t called anyone a “cunt” yet, so I remember to keep profanities from my lips.
I lose three games in a row – with the last defeat I forget where I am again and groan loudly at the ceiling. It’s clear that I’m disturbing the children and attacking Gameway’s (surprising) gentleness. I still have almost an hour before boarding my flight, but I decide to sneak away with my tail between my legs.
“Are you ready? “You still have time,” emphasizes the Gameway employee as I pack up my things.
“Oh yeah, my flight is boarding,” I lie, shoving a second peanut butter cup into my mouth as I put my jacket on. I think I’ve had enough heated gamer moments before a cross-country flight than is recommended.
