Another Opportunity to Observe Humanity At Its Finest

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.

Ball Cap. It's backward (is it ever worn any - - other - - way?), it's Boston (is there any - - other - - team?) But this guy is different. He’s got it pulled down over his eyes as he moves through the airport. . . He must be some kinda Jedi to be able to not run into people.

Marie Laveau. Look!  It's Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen!  Out of New Orleans for a vacation are we?

Dead Pig Drag. Petite woman dragging an overly full duffel bag down the terminal . . . Significant other well ahead, smaller bag, no offer to help. What a guy!


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.

I’m psychologically scarred

I’m psychologically scarred. 400lbs of butt crack going commando. Will expand later as I go through my own breezeway PTSD trying to see how I can 'splain this. 

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.