First off, a big THANKS to Ashley for carting my ass off the the airport before the sun came up on a Saturday morning. Mucho appreciado!!
BURBANK AIRPORT 6:30AM 11.19.2005
LAX is for SUCKERS!!! Burbank, or as it is called these days, Bob Hope Airport, is the easiest airport I've ever been through. Everyone's polite...dare i say, NICE?! That includes the passengers. There was a mix-up. I'm standing in a line, about 7 back from the desk. "THIS IS NOT A LINE TO CHECK IN YOUR LUGGAGE", bellows the desk clerk - Is it that or something more important/official sounding like customer service representative or another elongated title? Anyway, when the proper synapse fires, we all move over to the correct queue...IN THE ORDER WE WERE IN PREVIOUSLY. Lots of Please, you were before me's and No, no, you were first's are heard as my hope for civilisation as we know it inches higher. As I get my boarding pass from the e-ticket kiosk - by the way, e-tickets are the shit! - I move over to the attendant checking in luggage. "Are you carrying any film, batteries or family members in your luggage today?" he says with a grin. I muster as much energy as I can at the moment to smile and say, "Well, no. I only packed a couple of strangers." He belly laughs as though he's never heard that one before {remember, this is 6:30 on a Saturday morning...the sun's not up yet}. The line to get through security winds down several hallways. Every turn I make to get to the end of it chips away at my spirit just a tiny bit. Luckily, the line moves quickly. I get to the metal detector...I beep.
"Please remove your belt, sir."
"Ok, but normally, I only strip for people whose name I know."
"My name's Arthur, please remove your belt, sir." Arthur's having none of it, but remains congenial.
I beep again. He asks for my shoes; I give then sans another dorky sleep-addled quip. Arthur takes my shoes to a scanner, waves the wand over my body, and asks me to wait for my shoes, which need to be checked for any metal. Since they are Doc Marten's, I figure, no problem. I wait, shoeless, for about 5 minutes. Arthur's moving the line along.
"Um, excuse me, Arthur? I'd like to board the plane with my shoes."
"Oh, they're over there. Sorry about that."
They've been sitting in a bin, already checked and ready to go for at least 4 of those 5 minutes. That'll learn me to attempt humor so early.
- I prefer boarding a plane from the tarmack over going through the hallway. Dunno why, I just do.
19F. I always seem to be seated near the back of the plane. If I were a morose person, I would think, well, at least that'll give me a 1/2 second more to watch the plane implode before I taste dirt, but I'm not like that..am I?
The flight to Denver - our one and only stop before I get to Minneapolis - is uneventful. We go up. 2 hours later, we go down. When people ask, "How was your flight?", I always think, "Well, we made it, so it was good".
Why the hell can't I listen to my headphones during take off?!? Will my cd player really effect the communication between the pilots and the tower? It pisses me off. I used to be able to listen to music as we left earth. The trick was to synch up a song so you got a little intro and when the main lick of the song hit, the plane disconnected from terra firma. Many songs work:
- Pump It Up from Elvis Costello's This Year's Model
- I Am The Sea into The Real Me from The Who's Quadrophenia
- One Of These Days from Pink Floyd's Meddle
- The Main Title from John William's Superman score
Any song with a strong intro will do really. If you are reading this, post 3 songs youthink will work on the bulletin. We'll see who comes up with some good ones.
DENVER AIRPORT GATE B-18
The desk clerk - again, the job title escapes me - seems a laid back, easy going fellow, saying "What's up, my man" to everyone he sees and calling out the names and waving to every airport employee he sees, adding "alright" when they say hi back. I particularly dig his glasses. Two 2:35 to 1 shaded panes encompassed by a black & white checkerboard plastic frame. He begins to call out sections to board. I remember when they would call out actual rows. Everyone's cutting back, I guess. when I get to the gate.
"Good morning! How you doin'?" he syas with a big smile and his hand jutted forward ready for a good shaking.
"Fine, thanks. You?"
"Couldn't be better!"
I find it refreshing when people who have what seem to be thankless jobs love life and try spreading it around whenever possible.
11F. Hey I'm closer to the front than usual!
Nothing like an older - pardon me - seasoned flight attendant with a slightly wacky sense of humor. While one of her co-workers drones on throught the standard safety schpiel on the p.a., she points out the emergency exits as though she's a marionette. the expression on her lovely face is "I've done thins a million times before and I'll be doing it a million times more". When asking the passengers sitting next to the exits if they are up to helping if needed, someone says no - a first for me - and she lets them swap seats with another, all the while, trying to lighten the mood with flat one-liners she's probably said many times before. At one point during the flight, she walks by me and says,
"You alright, sugar?" {yes, she actually said this}
"Quite fine, thanks for asking."
Now I must admit, since I have a penis, her attention combined with her looks and southern twang turn me on a bit, but I don't think I'm a Mile High Club type. I know, why do I immediately go there? Like I wrote, I have a penis.
I look out the window as we are taxiing and espy the snow-capped Rocky Mountains. Espy - a crossword puzzle word, right Woj?
We land in Minneapolis a couple hours later. I walk through the terminal - there's that inappropriate word again - and notice a Mall of America store. Yes, the mall has its own store at the airport. Don't ask, I have absolutely no idea why. As I wait at baggage claim, I hear behind he, "Yo Jesus" - using the spanish pronounciation. Since I know it's my sister, I slowly twist around, spread my arms out to my sides, and say, "Yes, my child?". It's great to see her again. She's lost alot of weight since I saw her last and looks teriffic. Then, my Dad enters and when I see him, at that moment I remember he shaved off the mustache he had since I was a teenager. Great to see him too. The girls, Rebecca, 9, and Rachel, 4, are waiting in the car. I hug them alot cuz I'm the uncle (not the creepy kind like your thinking of, Cynic). All and all, the flights were fine. I mean, since I'm writing this after them, they must've been alright, right?
Ok, now it's time to watch some satellite tv, play some x-box and doze off whenever the hell I feel like it.
Comments