Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Airport God

*Images representing a time when the airport God was young and pleasant.
I traveled to Florida today for my “Job Fantastic” orientation and, true to form, the airport God imposed some difficulty. I don’t know what I did to piss him off but he must be related to the DMV and postal Gods.
The only altercation I had getting onto the plane was with a passenger. We’re standing in line at the security screen (bare feet on fungus saturated carpet and holding up beltless pants with one hand) while a bag is stopped right before the conveyer belt. One lady in front of me and she just stands there.
So I walk around shove the bag on the belt and push her bins in the forward motion. “That is their job!” she objects while gesturing to the agent sitting and looking at the screen which is blank because all the bins and bags have stopped in the backlog. “Well let’s get things moving.” I reply with a smile.
See! I don’t start out being a ball-busting bitch. I’m making some accommodation for the crazy lady. “Not when you deal with security! It is THEIR job!” The agent, in a not so friendly manner, demands that crazy lady go through the metal detector. I follow and she turns to continue her THEIR job tirade when the lady behind me, tells crazy lady that she needs to get her stuff and move.
Crazy lady flips around to the new onslaught but the agent decides crazy lady is a threat and he needs to inspect her bags. Crazy lady and agent walk away so no pounding occur at this time.
When I get to the hotel I discover the entire side of my bag is wet. Wet like saturated through the lining and soaked into half of my clothes. Are you freaking kidding!?! After the business casual shopping odyssey? So I’m sitting on the bed, with pants and shirts draped everywhere hoping that something will be dry by tomorrow. Damn you airport God!

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