Star Wars Bar: Is it just me, or does every major airport today resemble Chalmun's Cantina (AKA: the Mos Eisley Cantina)? If an airport's clientele looks like this, then what the Hell does the Greyhound station look like? I know I'm dating myself and I know that the business I am in requires a certain standard of dress, but "back in the day", air travel, heck, even rail travel was considered an event you "dressed" for. You know, coat & tie, dress gloves and hat, etc., But today? Well, just read on.
400lbs of Butt Crack. When you routinely travel between one city and another you begin to see regulars on flight crews and passengers. . . like the loud slobbering drunk guy that routinely passes out between Atlanta and Richmond every Wednesday night. A few weeks ago I described a large man in his 30's that was leaning against a vacant ticket counter as he made his phone call. Well, he was on my flight. An old shirt on that showed the "Goth" white of his belly and a pair old, old threadbare elastic waist pants on . . and might I say that the elastic had long ago given its life up in service and had stopped being functional. I had gotten seated on the plane and the seat next to me was vacant. That's when I saw him again he was heading down the aisle toward me and the thought flashed through my mind: "Please don't let him sit here, please, please don't let him sit next to me." Luckily he was in the row ahead of me. We had an uneventful flight until it came time to get off. I was letting a couple of ladies go ahead and since I couldn't get around this guy motioned for him to go ahead of me. . . . . Big mistake. He struggled with his lap top shoulder strap on one arm and what appeared to be a professional photographers camera on the other shoulder. He moved slowly up the breezeway (now there's an appropriate word) and it was then that I witnesses the full effect of the threadbare, non-elastic waist pants taking their effect. Each step caused his pants to start to droop lower on his back side. Lower and I get to see another inch of jiggling white flesh. Lower and I get to see just how hairy his posterior is. Lower and I get to see his butt crack begin its vertical smile. Another step, more butt crack until . . . . . . I’m staring at his entire right cheek . . . . It was then that it hit me. Oh My God, this guy is going commando! At this point, we had reached the terminal and I burst free passing him. But (again an appropriate word) not before the psychological scarring had taken its toll.
Atlanta in the Summer. It's such a joy getting into the Atlanta airport, and getting through screening. Why? Because the HVAC system there barely works! By the time you've struggled out of and back into your clothes and gotten to your gate, you are in a sweat. It doesn't stop until your flight reaches cruising altitude. I hate Atlanta's airport, but I really hate it in the Summer.
Apple. Apple shaped woman. Pink shorts, white XXXL tee-shirt with some type of kitten on it, legs that last saw the sun when she was 8 (she's 60 now) moving out. OK, there are some things I just don't want to see and this is one of them. I don't want to see people wearing their sleepwear walking through the airport.
Collapsible Canvas Wagon. A mom with two toddlers both in a brown folding wagon. What a great use for this! Way to go Mom!
Carryon Creep. I've noticed that the airlines are now becoming lax (say it ain’t so) as to the size of the carryon luggage. We now have suitcase size garment bags (like the one I check) that people are boarding with. That's in addition to their other carry on . . . just a smidge smaller. Next up?
• Teenage girls with mattresses and complete bedding to include body sized pillows.
• Live chickens in coops.
• Propane stoves . . . for brewing tea in the aisles.
DOTY. I almost forgot this one. Here’s my vote for Dad of the Year (DOTY) award. I’m checking my bag in to come back home for the Memorial Day weekend. The Atlanta airport is, of course, packed. Everything funnels into two agents who are diligently doing their best to get the job done. One line is moving much faster that the other. Guess which one I’m in. Yep, the one that looks like DC rush-hour traffic . . . at a complete halt. But being the curious guy I am I peer forward to see what the holdup is. There at the ticket agent is young mother with two yowling toddlers. She’s either trying to buy the tickets, or is making changes to tickets. The toddlers, one in a stroller and the other hyped up on sugar and bouncing off anything and anyone nearby are the source of the noise. Where’s Dad? I say to myself. There he is less than 10 feet away, conducting a conference call on his cell phone. The subject? The fundamentals of how to calculate a formula on a spreadsheet. The guy in the line next to me shakes his head and says to me: “The guy just doesn’t get it.” To which I reply: “Oh he’s gonna get it alright, just not right now.” Dad’s phone call is now done and he proceeds to move the stroller forward and backward, forward and backward as he avoids the eye contact of his wife. You know where this is going don’t you. Too much motion for the baby, tummy’s too full, something has got to go somewhere . . . and it does. All over baby, toys and the stroller. Mom’s done at the counter, turns around at just the right moment to see baby deposit lunch and . . . . this is where Dad “get’s it.” He’s fully aware now of the costs of a conference call and the wrath of mom. Chuckling to myself I say: “What a nitwit.
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