When traveling, I always make it a point to arrive at the airport well in advance of my departure, often giving myself at least two hours of buffer time. Although I typically use this extra time to relax in a lounge or maybe even grab a drink, my recent experience at Los Angeles International Airport was different. Instead of my usual routine, I discovered Gameway, the world’s first airport-based video game lounge. With two locations within the airport, Gameway offers travelers the opportunity to play popular video games while waiting for their flights. As a member with Priority Pass, I was able to enjoy 30 minutes of gaming for free, but for others, it would cost $16 for 30 minutes, $26 for an hour, or $46 for a whole day of gameplay.
What was it like to play video games at the airport? Let me share my experience with you.
Photo: Playing Games in the airport line While waiting to show my Priority Pass, a father and his three elementary school children are arguing over the trees. The Young Leader approaches me. “Do you have FIFA?” The little boy asks as the two argue, his eyes looking troubled. A few people crane their necks into the future, wanting to know where the bright lights and school din come from. Frustrated or distracted by any Gameway, they quickly wheel their suitcases out the door. The father and the family settle on a session (half an hour, but with three children and necessary snacks, the risk comes somewhere around $150) and goes to their playground. So, it's my turn. “You get a free drink and snack, but the energy drinks cost more,” a Gameway employee tells me. At the front is a shiny fridge full of sugary concoctions, flanked by bags of chips and sweets. I pour Topo Chico sparkling water (no alcohol like some other places, but I don't eat it) and two cups of Reese's peanut butter.
“Can I log into my account?” I ask as I unwrap a cup of peanut butter, eager to feed my Overwatch 2 addiction. “Yes,” the employee replies, quickly turning to explain how Gameway charges are to a smartly dressed businessman. The child climbs on my suitcase to get to the place where his mother refuses to pay. “Honey, it's too much. Our plane will take off soon.”
I settle into the game chair as the baby is reluctantly let out, log into my Xbox Live account, download the green and black Razer headset, and immediately get whisked away to LAX. It's not my living room, but I don't feel like I'm sitting in an airport waiting to board my JetBlue flight home. Even with the childish cries and screams going through my noise-cancelling headphones, I slip into the zen state that only gaming can give me. That is, until I started playing Overwatch 2, of course.
Overwatch games on the airfield I have written a lot about the amount of dangerous competition in Overwatch 2, and with the recent cancellation of ActiBlizz, I am not sure if or when the method will be fixed. Right now, there's no clarity on when and why you're going up or down, and matchmaking feels inconsistent, resulting in matches that are either too easy or too difficult. Despite this, I cannot stop participating in the Sisyphean task of trying to rise from the gold and be in a position worthy of my support figures. The urge to prove my Overwatch is so good that I’m playing it in an airport, for Christ’s sake. Gameway feels like a player's safe haven in a busy, aggressively lit airport, so I settle in and play and do what I do at home. I line up to compete for the tank role, refusing to play because my best job is, naturally, the one with the role that shows my least skill—how am I a player on the gold team when I already was. Moira around the world? I don't need the toxic energy I bring to support an age match.
But with only a few minutes left in the game, I scold my Moira for playing DPS instead of healing me and order Mercy to encourage me to stay in the D.Va mech long enough to switch. I'm rolling my eyes, falling back into my seat in frustration, slapping my hand on my leg every time I'm killed – I don't realize I'm making noise until I see people staring at me in my peripheral vision.
I remove my head, smile shyly, and explain that “it's a comp,” but the girl who wants to turn on FIFA doesn't know what that means, and the guy who's working is trying to make sure he's six years old. old is not raising Dr. Pepper's on the crisp, clean counter. Embarrassed, I sank back in my seat a bit, whispering orders instead of yelling at them. Luckily, I haven't called anyone “stupid” yet, so I remind myself to keep the profanity on my lips. I lose three matches in a row – the last loss, forget where I am again and groan out loud. the ceiling. It's clear that I'm messing with the kids and abusing Gameway's (surprisingly) mellow. I still had about an hour before my flight, but I decided to tuck my tail between my legs. “Are you done? You still have time,” the Gameway employee says as I collect my things.
“Yeah, my plane's up,” I lied, shoving a second peanut butter cup into my mouth and putting on my jacket. I think I've had more time to warm up the players before I leave for other countries than I recommend.
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