April 26, 2011

• airport antics

  

  Air travel is pretty fascinating.  Airports have this uncanny ability to “transform” your identity.  Just like when you move to another city, you can totally reinvent yourself at the airport, or should I say, the airport can totally reinvent you.

  Standing in the security line, you suddenly realize that that snow globe you bought for cousin Annelle is complete contraband.  You start to sweat bullets when you reach the desk and there’s a stark red “X” criss-crossing the silhouette of the precious gift you carefully selected out of a row of impossible scenarios – unicorns hopping over castles with rainbows to boot.  Yes, that rare gift with a mahogany base which you meticulously packed in bubble wrap and placed in your carryon so that it would not be subject to the brutish ways of the airport cargo division is now minutes from being plucked from your hand.  To add insult to injury, when you innocently stammer, “But I didn’t know...?!” everyone is staring at you as if you were on trial.  The man wearing blue latex gloves, which are two sizes too small for his hands, is reaching for your globe, and he is in the right as he plucks the item and gesticulates towards the trash.  The thing is, the assistant who comes to take it away doesn’t put it in the visible trash can, but rather takes it behind a frosted-glass partition, and as they disgustedly stare at you, the airport violator, you can’t help but wonder if the daughter of an airport security guard is going to fall asleep to the soft sounds of a toy box snow globe tonight.

  Nonetheless, snap to it!  You have no time to think.  You are now the SLOW one.  Because you were worrying about your stupid snow globe, you haven’t had time to take off your belt, your scarf, your shoes, and excuse me, ma’am, your jacket!  And why oh why did you put your laptop in its rightful zipped holder?  Now you have to spend precious seconds unzipping it to get your laptop out, but don’t be stupid and put your boarding pass in the tray because you need that!  Geez, four years of a college education, and you can’t even put things on a moving conveyor belt while walking and undressing at the same time?  What is the matter with you?!

  Well, I’ll tell you what is the matter.  You are a terrorist.  As you walk through the scanner, which may or may not be revealing your nether regions to a snickering crew behind an Oz-like curtain, the light buzzes red.  “Ma’am,” they say.  But that’s where the formalities stop.  They are asking you to walk into a glass containment room, where all the “non-terrorists” walk by, watch you, and think, ‘What’s wrong with you, you, you, un-American!’  Again, you have no idea why you’re in there.  You just wait while the airport guard tells you not to move and radios “We have a female continuous here.”  The secret code is never revealed when all of sudden, the door is opened, and they tell you that you’re ok, though nothing has changed.  They then proceed to swab your personal items with a secret cloth, which in the end might just be an alcohol wipe.  Your dignity has just been traded with a 2”x2” piece of disposable cloth.

  Never you mind.  You’ve made it to the boarding area.  Finally, a place where you can kick up your feet and relax on the chairs that are specifically designed to keep you from getting comfortable.  Countless weary travelers have tried to wedge their bodies under the strategically placed armrests that make it seem like laying down would be possible, but alas, as always the airport is a tease.  No matter, they are calling you to board the plane!

  Boarding is another one of those seemingly harmless airport procedures, but it is in fact, very classist, literally.  First they call all the “Premiere” members.  Then all the “Executive” members.  Then all the “Premiere Executive” members.  Now the “Executive Premiere” members.  ‘That’s fine,’  you tell yourself,  ‘those people all paid triple prices for their tickets.’  But then it starts to get ridiculous. 

  “Now boarding all passengers with first-class tickets.”

  “Now all those passengers traveling with small children.”

  “Will John Williams please come to the front desk?”

  “Paging Sam Scott.”

  “Now all Economy plus passengers.”

  As they stare out at the crowd, the stewards seem to make a conscious effort to not catch your gaze as they then call, “All passengers that are not you are invited to board.”  Talk about a buzz kill.

  As you finally board, you are lucky enough to manage to squeeze your carefully packed carryon (minus snow globe obviously) in the two-inch space that is left in your overhead cabin.  The rest of your stuff must inevitably get crammed on the vomit-stained floor at your feet.

  At least the seats have cushions, which conveniently turn into flotation devices if you ever find yourself in shark-infested waters.  If you actually look at the seat pocket card, the calm illustrations actually depict pretty horrific scenarios.  Fortunately, the stewardess’s serene Mona Lisaesque smile is there to comfort you.  During the final seat check, it’s that same smile which reassures you that sitting at a 40-degree angle is perfectly normal.  Just get that seat into its “upright” position lest you be punished again.

  Most of the flight is thankfully uneventful.  You’ve managed to buy the lie that Coke is a meal and that sleeping upright is a blessing.  It isn’t until they make the final landing announcements that you realize how much you’ve settled.  It’s the reminders to first-class passengers made throughout the aircraft that really tip you off. 

  “Will our first-class passengers please make sure your footrests and headrests are also tucked away at this time?”

  “Our stewards will be by shortly to buss your champagne glasses and freshly-ironed Wall Street Journals.”

  Ok, we get it.  Money buys you some luxuries, but the final kick in the classist ass comes during your final walk through their lap of luxury.  You walk passed the latest issues of Vogue and W strewn on the floor atop velveteen blankets and silk pillows.  Here, you are firmly reminded that you are indeed a have-not and you should get used to your lot in life.

  But only for a bit.  Fortunately, the cargo service is an equal-opportunity affair.  As you stroll past your first-class buddy who is still waiting on his bag, you can’t help but let a smug grin creep onto your face as you head out and hail the next taxi and drive off in a land where the playing field is "level" again.

   

  • 6:35 pm
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