By Scott Sullivan
Editor
Hotspots
Who knew Grand Rapids’ Gerald R. Ford International Airport is one of America’s Dating Hotspots?
The website DatingAdvice advises GRX ranks tops in the state among most likely places to meet a prospective partner. So I headed there right away.
“Where you going?” my wife asked.
“A hotspot,” I said.
“Make sure your ticket to hell is one-way,” she said.
I had no ticket nor clue, so I sought social intercourse in the concourse with Bertha Butts, a Rubenesque crone pushing a grocery cart full of empties.
“Going my way?” I asked.
“Where’s the bottle return?”
“I mean, after that.”
“I’ve got at least $10 worth. How far will that get me?”
“Saugatuck?” I suggested.
“Do they have an airport?”
“An old airport land where planes never landed in 90 years,” I said. “We could buy enough gas to drive there …”
“I hear Saugatuck’s cool …”
“This time of year especially. Plus Freedom Showers ranks it Michigan’s Top Winter Getaway for Seniors.”
“Freedom Showers?”
“They’re related to DatingAdvice, I think. Conduct online click-bait polls and try to sell ads supporting them. Listen:
“Known for its vibrant arts community, Saugatuck remains lively in winter with accessible galleries, boutique shopping and scenic views of Lake Michigan. Seniors can enjoy relaxing indoor activities or take part in seasonal events. Strong medical services and a warm atmosphere make it a perfect retreat.’”
“Sounds AI-written.”
“The icebergs are cool,” I protested.
“Look,” she said. “I came here looking to meet a rich hunk who’d fly me to Palm Beach.”
“What’s so great about there?” I asked.
“DatingAdvice says it has the most romantic airport in America. Next are Orlando International, Fort Lauderdale International, Tampa International …”
“Detect a Florida bias?”
“Where are the lean, tan men in Bermudas lugging tennis rackets while glancing at their Rolexes here?” she countered.
“It’s February in Michigan,” I explained. “Per DatingAdvice, GRX is just 53rd in the nation. But get this:
“Grand Rapids is where craft beer and cozy Midwestern vibes meet. Imagine connecting with someone over a shared love of breweries or debating the best spots along the Grand River. Romance here is as refreshing as a Michigan ale.”
“Three sentences, each referring to beer? I’m a Blatz girl myself. What’s the Worst Airport?”
“Last of the 100 they list is Friedman Memorial in Hailey, Idaho. But still a cool hotspot. Listen:
“Hailey is where potatoes, fly fishermen and Sun Valley skiers meet. Picture hooking up with a lumbersexual over a shared love of tater tots and allure of lures. Romance here is as great as a plate of spuds.’”
Ka-ching! “Yay,” said Bertha, “I’ve cashed in my bottles. Where does Freedom Showers rank Saugatuck nationally as a senior winter getaway?”
“After the top 10 in Florida and Hawaii, naturally, 92nd of 225 — but the best in Michigan!”
“Does it sound to you like these write-by-numbers travel sites are pandering?” she asked.
“Not at all. I’m proud they recognize places I live and love are the best in Michigan!”
“Our state’s best is just 92nd in the nation? Behind Deadwood, S.D.?”
“What’s wrong with that for those on death’s doorstep anyway? Kill two birds with one stone. Maybe we should go there:
“Known as host to the Black Hills Gold Rush, Deadwood today is a vibrant center that celebrates its heritage of saloons, whores and figures like Wyatt Earp, Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickock, who was killed and is buried there. Picture a moonlit horse-and-buggy ride through the boutique graveyard while a wolf howls in the nearby Black Hills.”
“Picture this!” She walloped me with her walker. Our romance had come to the terminal, I decided.
“You’re back?” my wife said when I got home. “What’s with your bruises?”
“My tan?” I corrected.
“You’re telling me you flew to and from a tropical resort without luggage and are back in an hour?”
“Did I say that?”
In walked Bertha. “That lout was hitting on me!” she complained, wielding her walker.
“Can I join you?” my wife asked, grabbing a rolling pin. By the time they were doneI looked like George Hamilton.
“Now, that’s a tan,” Bertha said.
