Baggage Claim

     My consistent air travel experiences recently are with Atlanta and Richmond. Each has its own baggage claim persona.

     Richmond. Richmond has a feral band of Luggage Apes-LA (see photo).

Luggage Apes Scan The Horizon Looking For The Alpha Male.

     They take pride in making sure that they trickle small amounts of bags onto the carousel. . . after they’ve made you run around a bit. Since Richmond is a small airport, they usually wait until two flights have arrived before they start your adventures in getting your bags. First the LA’s will randomly start carousels in motions and I believe watch from a CCTV monitor as all the passengers move to the noise and movement. Then they stop abruptly once they are sure that both plane loads are waiting at the same carousel. Next, they randomly assign arriving flight information to carousels by lighting up the announcement board that: “Flight 2892 from Bongoslavia has it’s bags arriving on carousel 3.” Once everyone is thoroughly confused and they have pulled themselves away from the CCTV monitor the trickle begins, one lightly loaded baggage cart at a time. Usually a 30 – 45 minute experience.
     Atlanta is different. After riding the train for 20 minutes to get to Baggage Claim, you arrive, check the TV monitor and go to your carousel to see:

     Yep, nuthin. As you stand there, you have to keep your eyes open on all the other carousels. Why? Cuz that’s where your bag will come in at. Think you’re done? Not yet. When you get al your crap put together, and have either thrown away your baggage claim stub, or buried it in the bottom of your carry-on who should appear but the bag Nazi’s. You ain’t leavin’ until produce your papers. I’ve tried leaving after looking for them, but they pop up out of the floor. “Show me your papers please.”

"The Lounge"

     It's a heavy travel week. I'd forgotten that we have Memorial Day Weekend coming up and so wasn't prepared for 3 times the volume of humanity . . . .
     The ATL airport has two "Smoking Lounges" on each side of each terminal to accommodate those who need to smoke. As I passed the "Fishbowl" (AKA: The Smoking Lounge) I was reminded of trains in Japan. Combine that image with every single human being smoking in that crowded space and you start to get the picture.

Legs & Feets

     Conversation overheard from two rows back. Apparently husband wasn't placing his feet where wife thought appropriate. Imagine the following in your thickest Redneck accent:
     "Well Darlin', dems muh feets! I cain't take 'em off'n muh legs. Whar you want me to put 'em then?"
     Later: "I uz jess tryin' to tell ya that my big ol' size 13's was havin' a hard time findin a place fer theyselves, that's all."
     "Dem's muh feets." Gotta remember that one.

Moobs

     After checking in and while heading to my gate this morning I passed a young mother clutching her newborn. Until I saw that Mom was trailing behind and what I'd seen was Dad with I guess an extra 100lbs of sympathy weight and a prominent set of Moobs.
     What are Moobs? Here's my pick of the 25 definitions on The Urban Dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=moob). Moob: The flabby breasts of a man. Man + Boob = Moob Can also be used in any context, any time. Can be used as an adjective, noun, potato, octopus, it is relevant in all cases and contexts.

Chi-Town

Flew through Chicago's O'Hare this past week for the first time in about a year. If you are in love with how O’Hare is laid out then you seriously need professional help. Observations, in no particular order, follow:


Drifters – In most airports, the humanity moves at a fast pace going from point A to point B. Not so at O’Hare. There, humanity prefers to be carried along like a slow moving stream. Heads and eyes are not focused on where you are going but rather at all the fascinating, shiney gewgaws that vendors are presenting . . . . . and other than Chicago specific vendors, you see all the rest of these in every US airport. The "drifters" eventually arrive at their gates (I guess) but probably look somewhat like a piece of well worn driftwood when they do.


The Red Carpet – There is an airline that takes great pride in treating its Premium/Golden/platinum/Any Precious Metal/First Class/Business/Whatever with a bit of extra special and early boarding treatment. They are checked through a separate line before the rest of us “unwashed” are allowed to board. Now, this line is separated by separate stanchions with retractable rope and flows over a Red Carpet with the airlines logo printed on it. It’s quite the ceremony as the line is opened and closed to allow the elite to board. Once they start to call us, that would be the "unwashed", the Red Carpet line is closed off and we all start to board by the customary zones. The “unwashed” line leads to the very same check-in station as the Red Carpet line did. How far apart are these lines of the haves and have not’s? Oh, I’d say 3, 4 and a half inches at most. You just don’t walk on their Red Carpet . . . What a hoot.


Tee-Shirts With an Environmental Message – Arriving flight of passengers I see an enviro/hippie type getting off the arriving aircraft. Scraggly “I wanna grow one but can’t” beard, hair looking as if it just might be a nest for squirrels, and the appropriate earth friendly clothes made from recycled stuff, backpack included. But it wasn’t the outfit that drew my attention, it was the message on the tee-shirt: “Reduce Your Carbon Footprint. Get Back to Nature.” . . . . . I’m sure that the irony of getting off a commercial aircraft and his tee-shirt’s message never hit him.


No Fly List Candidate - Walking to my gate I pass an eatery that has bar level seating facing the concourse. He’s eating of course, but he looks strikingly like Marty Feldman (may he rest in peace).   Never saw him blink.

The guy was a candidate for my No Fly List for sure.


300 Lbs Hobbit. Mohawk, spiked about 5 – 6 inches. The usual 3 week beard growth. Shorts. Zip up hoodie. Doc Martens. Ensemble is all in black. Moving with a purpose.

Cell Phones – Almost all of us have them. What I didn’t want Monday evening was to be seated across from someone in a crowded gate area who decided he needed to use his. He either thought everyone in the two gate area was deaf, or he was deaf, or his caller was deaf. . . . . naw, he was the same for calls two and three.  I wanted to ask him to put the call on speaker as it was unfair to the rest of us to only get one side of the conversation.

“Vinnie” – OK, how do I describe “Vinnie”? “Vinnie” seems to be the most appropriate name I can call him as you’ll find out. “Vinnie’s” a man’s man. He works for one of the major airlines cause that’s what’s printed on his shirt (unbuttoned to show the ample fur on the chest) and has the short sleeves rolled up. The shirt is at it’s maximum stretch. He strides with a purpose in his well worn, black cowboy boots . . . cigarette strategically placed behind one ear.

Comfortable Shoes vs. CFRN Shoes – This is an age difference observation about women flight attendants as they make their way through the concourse to get the next flight. If they appear to be above the age of 40, then the shoes they are wearing are full of support and appear to be most comfortable . . . probably not what they’ll wear on the flight, but are worn for comfort and distance walking. The closer the attendants get to age 25, then the more CFRN shoes you see. CFRN: Go to http://www.urbandictionary.com/  and type in CRFN and you should get the idea of the type shoe I am talking about.

Is There an Opposite of "PWT"?

     Having gone to a "snooty" venue yesterday ("snooty" venue being defined as a location where people with buckets of extra dinero - preferably a few generations old - throw said dinero at "culture and the arts") I came away wondering what the filthy riches version of "Poor White Trash" ("PWT") is? It was there, I saw it, and it made me start pondering what someone like me (one generation removed from "PWT" as Hannibal Lector says we all are) would call it? "Rich White Something-or-other." Do they have their own cult following like PWT does with "The People of Wal-Mart"? They certainly have a dress code . . . . usually one that shouts: "I'M SO FREEKIN' RICH THAT I PAID $550.00 FOR THIS FUGLY BELT!"

     Some thoughts on a naming convention:

•  "Rich White Cultured"? Hmm. Nah . . . .
• "Rich White Snooty"? Maybe . . .
• "Rich White Snotty"? Now that's just mean.
• "Rich White Stuck up"? . . . . Eh.
• "Rich White Snobby"? Maybe
• "Rich White Uppity"? Now we're talking.
• "Rich White Pretentious"? OK!
• "Rich White Pompous"? Maybe.
• "Rich White Spoiled"? Eh.
• "Rich White Narcissistic"? They probably are but . . . .
• "Rich White Prissy" That's it. That's my choice.

      What about your "adventures" 'mongst the "aristocracy?

 

Things to be thankful for . . . .

I'm thankful that the pilot who moved as fast as a South American Sloth / Koala Bear / Galapagos Tortoise wasn't Cap'n on my flight.

Airport Club Rooms

Drug into one by my boss. . . . Unless the purpose is to spend the next 2 hours deep in meditation of your own crotch (e.g. reading and texting on your "Crackberry") then you really get nothing from an airline’s club room.


Other than the lady with the dog who screamed at someone trying to feed her precious K9 a chocolate cookie (“STOP!! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT CHOCOLATE IS POISON TO A DOG?!") it's pretty boring. But, one has to recognize where one is at in the food chain.