I work from home. I’ll
never complain because there are more advantages to that arrangement than I can
even count, but there is one down-side: I don’t get out much. So on those
occasions where I do leave the house to visit people or get away for the weekend
or pick up a loaf of bread, it opens the door for
My better half is a real-life
superhero. No, she can’t leap over tall buildings or control the weather (at
least, not that I’m aware of), but she does work for the Red Cross where she
regularly helps improve the lives of people in crisis. In comparison, all I
regularly do is eat curry and watch Godzilla movies.
Anyway, she just flew off to
the Midwest to aide in the flooding relief efforts. As I was helping her pack
for her flight, I was reminded of a piece I wrote years ago during a trip where
I was forced to hang out in an airport terminal with lots and lots and lots of
time on my hands.
I present to you:
Scenes From An Airport
Part I: LAX
My flight back from L.A. was
scheduled to leave at 10:20 pm, arrive in Washington, D.C.'s Dulles at 6:15 am for a leisurely
breakfast and then puddle-jump me to Albany, NY at 8:15 am.
That was the plan. But
like all good plans, this all quickly went to pot. I dutifully arrived at
LAX two hours early to discover that not only was my flight to D.C. two and a
half hours late, but that the delay would cause me to miss my connection to
Albany.
So what am I supposed to do
with two four-hour blocks of time at an airport? Record the experience for
your reading pleasure, of course.
9:00 pm PT. Through
security, where people still haven’t figured out the whole “remove shoes
and all metal” bit. It's frustrating, but at least I don't have to sweat making my flight.
Because I’ve seen enough
seasons of The Amazing Race, I begin
working the gates, hitting up anyone working a gate heading to the east coast
earlier than 12:30 am for available seats. I learn some alarming things:
None
of United’s employees can use their computer system without experiencing
difficulties and calling in other employees for help. None. Of. Them. This
doesn’t bode well for either United’s computer system or its training program.
Due to
delays in D.C., Chicago and Philly, all flights are overbooked by nearly
20 people. “Someone at reservations can’t count,” one exhausted employee tells
me. Indeed.
* * *
“I don’t want to be an
aspiring actor. I don’t want to be divorced and remarried. Over and over.
I don’t want to have plastic surgery. Over and over and over.”
Also: “My dream
is to avoid becoming a Hollywood clichรฉ. Before doing that becomes
a clichรฉ.”
– Ad copy for giant ass Lincoln display in the United terminal
Someone spent a lot of money
on this thing. Amazingly, it makes me neither want to buy a Lincoln nor
stay one more minute than necessary in Los Angeles.
* * *
Despite the fact that there’s
a deli, Mexican grill, sports bar, snack shop, Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant and
Starbucks in this terminal, it’s f’n McDonalds that has the dozen-person line
at any given time.
* * *
Because this is L.A., there’s
a LEGO exhibit in this terminal with a giant LEGO statue of… the Statue of
Liberty.
 |
| What better way to say "Welcome to L.A.?" |
* * *
Johnny Walker, the preferred
scotch of yours truly, is not only available in Red Label and Black Label, but
also Blue Label, Gold Label and Green Label. For those of you who like to
purchase their scotch three bottles at a time, Johnny Walker offers a free
travel bag with the purchase of three one-liter bottles.
* * *
After writing out my next
Bargain Basement Review (Yes, there was originally a Bargain Basement Review) by hand, I walk back and forth down the full length of the terminal,
just to make sure I’m extra tired for the flight. There’s a woman my age
playing with her young daughter. I miss my girls.
* * *
Here are some choice excerpts
from Spider-Man 3: The Movie Storybook, the official picture book to the
PG-13 film, geared towards ages 4-8 (Spoiler Free):
“After a speech by the major,
the police chief’s daughter, Gwen, introduced Spider-Man to the crowd. He
swung in dramatically and accepted his award. He felt very proud.”
“…Peter’s landlord asked him
for the rent. It was a simple question, but Peter yelled at him. He
couldn’t control his rage.”
And my favorite: “While Peter
was sleeping, it oozed all over him and gave him a nightmare!”
* * *
10:45 pm. One snippy
gate clerk sends me over to Customer Service. The line is over 40 people
long. I counted.
* * *
Fashion Watch: I see a guy in
a variation of the tuxedo t-shirt — white t-shirt with an undone “collar” and
“necktie,” revealing a Superman costume “underneath.” It makes my brain roll
around inside my skull. Or maybe that’s just the exhaustion.
* * *
11:30 pm. The line over
at Customer Service is still about 40 people long. No telling whether or
not it’s the same 40 people.
11:45 pm. My anticipated
departure time has changed from 12:30 am to 12:20 am. Yay?
11:55 pm. After a
largely needless trip to the restroom, I discover that my flight’s departure
time has been moved back to 12:30am.
The lesson, of course, is not to make
unnecessary trips to the bathroom.
Part II: Dulles
 |
| Is this Dulles Airport? Your guess is as good as mine. |
7:55 am ET. We’ve begun
our final descent, which is feeling more like the slow spiral down the drain
than landing a plane. My original connection is scheduled to leave at 8:15
am, and unlike all the other connections everyone else will miss, mine is only
a half dozen gates away from where we’ll deplane. And even though I’m in the
40th row, I’m a little optimistic. Perhaps because I’m feeling strangely
rested? Your guess is as good as mine.
A flight attendant asks that
anyone not about to make a mad dash for a connection stay in their seats until
those on connections have disembarked. Fat chance of that.
Touchdown just before 8:10 am. Taxi,
taxi, taxi, taxi, taxi. Full stop.
Amazingly, people are
actually listening to that flight attendant, and I get off the plane much
faster than anyone in the 40th row of a 767 should have. Off the plane and
BAM! — everyone’s dragging ass down that narrow hallway out of the gate.
“The hell!” I hear behind
me. I glance back to a couple about my age, shouting past me to the group
ahead of us. “You’re on the East Coast now, so move your asses!” And just
like that, I want to move in with them and for the three of us to have
sitcom-like adventures.
 |
| Sir John Riggins, a real-life Juggernaut |
It takes us fifteen seconds
to determine that the three of us are trying to get that Albany connection. I
scoop up my suitcase and make like John Riggins, the three of us juking, jiving
and generally hauling ass to the gate.
We get there at 8:20 am, and
wouldn’t you know it? This is the only flight I see during my
entire trip home that actually departs on time. Nice work, United.
* * *
“You guys booked on the 12:30
pm?” I ask the Albany couple, quietly thankful for that morsel of forethought
by the check-in agent in LAX.
“Nah. We’re on Priority
Stand-By.”
“Priority
Stand-By”? Good luck with that,
I think. They might as well have called it “Double Secret Preferred
Stand-By” for all the good that will probably do them.
* * *
Finally, I call in to the fam
with an update on what has been going on (when I was finally sorted out at LAX
and through security, it was past midnight on the East Coast). Our brief call
is peppered with announcements from THE LOUDEST FUCKING P.A. SYSTEM
EVER! That guy had better have gotten his damn courtesy call.
* * *
9:00 am., three and a half
hours before my next flight. I get a paper and settle into a British pub
for the world’s most leisurely breakfast. I go for a proper English
fry-up: two fried eggs, bangers, fried potatoes, toast and what appears to be
an entire can of baked beans. Okay, not remotely healthy, but neither is the
number of beers being served at this hour.
 |
| Glorious. |
A seat at the hook of the
bar, fry-up, paper and $2.75 coffee, which better include some free refills,
dammit. I’m trying to sort out the accent of the two women sitting next to
me. I used to be pretty good at this. Let’s see: It’s not Crocodile
Dundee, but definitely Australian. Melbourne, maybe?
* * *
10:15 am. Hit the head, brush
teeth, clean up a bit, change t-shirt. Head towards my gate, but need to
hit the head again. Maybe that fry-up wasn’t such a good idea.
* * *
10:45 am. On my way to gate
D20, I abruptly stop at D14. I’ve been here before. In March,
on the way back from our family vacation in Florida, I took my daughters to
that toy store across the way and picked up a Cinderella coloring pad. Now
I really miss my girls.
* * *
I stumble across a Borders
(Remember those? So quaint!), and a surprisingly large one for an airport
terminal. Hardcover market is flooded with books about how everyone in the
country is stupid/screwing things up except the author — no wonder meaningful
conversations are going the way of the dodo. At the same time, I can’t help but
feel that there’s something about the look on Bernard Goldberg’s face on the
cover of Crazies to the Left of Me, Wimps to the Right that makes me
want to beat him with a shovel.
Ah, an entire section of
graphic novels – in the airport’s book store! Dulles just got a lot cooler. Comics
for adults, though I always feel like I’m 12-years-old when I read through one.
At least I now know how I’ll be killing the rest of my time.
* * *
12:15 pm. The monitor says we
should be boarding. We are not.
The gate agent shouts out to
us that we’re all waiting for just one flight attendant to arrive. He’d
make a general announcement — or simply not shout to us — if his microphone was
working. With that final piece of information, my disgust with United is
utterly complete.
A comely middle-aged woman in
a smart black business suit wheels her all-pro luggage into our gate and takes
a seat. A few passengers cheer. “Yay! She’s here!” She looks confused
and a bit embarrassed, and let’s everyone down by revealing that she is in fact
not a flight attendant.
* * *
12:30 pm. Now seated in
my final tin can of the trip. And hey, the Albany couple made it — looks like
that “Priority Stand-By” worked out after all.
An overly chirpy flight
attendant makes this announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize for
any confusion caused by our gate staff. While you were led to believe I
was running around in the wrong terminal, I was right here on the plane the
whole time!” She simultaneously squints her eyes, shrugs her shoulders and
flashes a Great White smile. “I guess I have to gain some more weight,
because they checked the plane twice and didn’t see me!”
* * *
12:55 pm, 16 1/2 hours into
my trip. After taxiing through downtown D.C., we’re ready to take off. Now
it’s just an hour plus flight to Albany, then a shuttle to the car and an hour
plus drive home.
* * *
3:00 pm, The Final Insult: I
get in my car, need gas. I finally find a gas station (no one thought to put
one in sight of the airport) and find it absolutely packed. Turns out the
whole area was thrashed by a lightning storm the night before, and all of the
gas pump were on the fritz. Only took me 30 minutes to get gas.
Good times.
