Airport observations

I should have known.  When I showed up early at the airport and asked if they’d let me check in and get the customs crap over with, the woman at awesome Air Canada’s desk asked me “Do you want to leave early?”  Um… “Can I make a call?”  Of course, really, what difference would it have made if I’d had to sit around and wait here or on the other end, but I called Amy anyway.  She was game so, hell, so was I.  Apparently, that sapped up all my good airport karma right there.

I’ve long held strong beliefs that when things go bad in an airport, you will receive reparation.  While I’ve never had any nightmare experiences, I have experienced this first hand.

The first time I flew to San Francisco with my friend Steve and his brother in 1998, I arrived at the airport dressed with flair.  It was November so it was cold and I was sporting my brand new saucy winter hat.  The boys immediately dug my hat (which led to an in-depth discussion about how one could spend $80 on a hat – one that went on for the duration of the trip) and so did the woman who checked us in.  She, in fact, could not stop talking about it.  We had a good time and proceeded on our way.  After passing through the grueling task that is airport customs (that was the one time I was pulled aside and searched,) we moved through the security section of things and took a seat, max-sized coffees in hand.  Everything was going along wonderfully until the moment Steve looked at me in shock and gasped “Where is your hat?”  I immediately stood up retraced all the steps I’d taken as far back as American Border Patrol would let me go.  I got no leads and I came back hatless.  I approached the desk to ask if they’d had anything turned in.  Can you believe that the same woman who’d loved my hat before had been moved to the gate where we were departing?  I told her my troubles and she appropriately sympathized.  She said “Ooohhh…. I loved that hat.”  Huh.  Me too.  She took my name and promised me she’d let me know if it turned up.  Resigned, I sat back down.  Steve gave me his signature pat on the back and his “it’s going to be okay, kid” talk (no matter what he says, he’s a softy deep down) but it wasn’t moments later that I heard my name over the speaker.  “Oh goody!”  I thought.  “My hat!.”  As I walked up, my new friend told me “I felt so bad about you losing your hat that I bumped you and your party up to first class.”  See what I mean?  Airport karma.  Who needs a winter hat in Phoenix anyway?

So, my high point today was getting a flight nearly two hours before I’d been scheduled to leave.  I’d shown up at the airport so early because Aaron was on his way to work and it was the only way I could hitch a ride with him to fit both our schedules.  The best part was when I sent him a text message from Portland at the exact time I knew he’d be showing up for work that said “Safe and on solid ground.  Funny, I made it to PDX faster than you made it to work.”

Here’s what I had to suffer through to make that happen.

  • Ditch a two day old bottle of Hydrating Mist because I’d completely forgotten about this silly liquid rule.  (Man, I hear ya, MV7.  Really.)
  • Oprah playing on the TV in the lounge area outside the gates.  Of all things.  Why not, say, CNN?
  • The only thing drowning out that patronizing bullshit was the sound of some dude playing his guitar while everyone else tried to mind their own damn business and wait for their flight.  Who does that?
  • The complete rundown of a very messy relationship that the girl sitting cross from me was sharing with what must have been a long lost friend.  Seriously, do people think that if they speak into the phone, the person on the other end is the only one to hear?  Je-sus.

The icing on the cake was being seated next to The Talker on the plane.  This one even came with an added bonus.   He is also the dude who will wipe his hands on his pants after licking them clean post-snack.

Sigh.  The things I will do to get to Amy.


7 Responses to “Airport observations”

  1. John O. Says:

    I didn’t know first class was for hand lickers. Now we know.

    PS: Did you get my wife’s email?

    PPS: I got the CD’s today, thanks muchly! I think I’m gonna throw one on right now!


  2. Erin Says:

    Well I hope after all of that you are having a fabulous time!!!

  3. flap Says:

    Thankfully it’s a short flight to Portland. A hand licker AND a talker? Christ. I’m sure that Amy really appreciated what you had to endure to get to her.
    On another note… You should get yourself an entourage. And the first person in that entourage should be your official Hydrating Mist carrier…

  4. QueenieCarly Says:

    Flap, you don’t even know how happy I am that somebody got that. You’re awesome!

  5. Renee Says:

    Love this entry. I have been to so many airports in the past year and a half I have MANY stories to tell. Every major city almost in America, lol….. I usually sit next to one of the following:
    – the talker
    – the too large for one seat and spilling into mine
    – the brought my own food from home and feel like peeling hard boiled eggs through entire flight
    – the crying baby
    – the senior citizen that smells like moth balls

  6. Vegas Princess Says:

    Ugh, I had my won horrible plane trips this weekend. Stuck behind screaming toddlers on both flights.

  7. SherBears Says:

    This is why I don’t fly.

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