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Welcome to the Freakshow

When did the airport become Walmart?

There are a number of videos on Youtube that show people making poor clothing and life choices in Walmart. 

And it is a flat out freakshow. 

But when did the freakshow take their weird act to the airport?

Here is where we’re at so far. 

It started slow. 

In line at the TSA checkpoint, I saw a guy that looked like a basketball in a polo shirt. (Let that visual sink in for a second.)

Nothing seemed out of place until he bent over to untie his shoes. (TSA checkpoint, remember?)

And then I saw it.

A whale tail.

You heard me right.

M-ER F-ING Whale tail.

This is something I can never unsee. 

Like a 1 second Vietnam War, this may affect me for the rest of my life.

I staggered along thru the checkpoint in a stupor, even the excessive pat down barely registered. (Someone fondling my testes usually gets my attention.)

While putting my shoes on at the bench after my #MeToo moment, while trying desperately not to see the whale tail again, the attractive business woman sitting next to me farted. 

Not a lady-like toot followed by an embarrassed “Oh my! Excuse me!”, but a full barreled flatulent ground zero moment followed by locking eyes with me and glaring like I was the one at fault.

She made a beeline for the bathroom right after she got her shoes on. (Possibly shit herself. If it was me, I would want to check after a blast like that too.)

There is a horizontal escalator that moves you along faster to the far off gates.

It was here that I wondered if you could get crabs in the butt crack?

I only ask because the guy in the skinny jeans ahead of me is raking his fingernails up and down his as with the fervor of a man who’s ass might be on fire. 

The scent of patchouli oil drifts back to my nostrils. (This does not help my already poor opinion of bohemian types. A smelly ass hippy with an itchy taint is still a smelly ass hippy. Plus, Ear gauges, need I say more?)

I get to my gate and figure all is well, just bide my time and I will soon be on the plane.

Life, it seems, has other plans. 

Airport security shows up and yanks some guy to his feet at a nearby gate. 

It seems a young mother has lodged a complaint. (As they frog-march him away, it occurs to me that if you are going to wear pajamas like regular pants, either sew up the bathroom slit in the front or wear underwear. I would be ok with airport security walking him down a few flights of steps so he could “Accidentally” fall down the steps and learn a deeper meaning of “Common courtesy”.)

And finally, I am on the plane.

But we are not done.

As I was boarding, Whale-tail is arguing with an attendant about the full size suitcase he claims is a carry on. 

I made the mistake of booking an aisle seat. 

This means that I spend all of boarding leaning to the right so that EVERY guy walking by doesn’t rub his ass on my shoulder. 

Look, I know how whiny and pitiful all of this sounds and I would be the first one to shout PUSSY at anyone else with the same bitch-list.

But, this is my world, and you are just a squirrel, trying to get a blog-nut.

The fact that the stewardess on the loudspeaker giving the safety speech has a decent harelip doesn’t even phase me. 

But the guy across the aisle picking his nose so deeply that it looks like he is up to the second knuckle is starting to freak me out.

A young mother with a cute little daughter sit down next to me.

With mom watching, the little girl rummages under the seat in front of her and digs out a piece of gum someone put there.

Immediately puts it in her mouth and begins chewing.

Mom says nothing. 

Gonna be a long flight.

 
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Posted by on December 15, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Room for one more, honey.

I don’t remember feeling paranoid when I used to go to the airport.

The rules of the airport have changed since I was a kid.

It used to be drive there, maybe slow down the car on your way in, park and walk them to the gate, a quick kiss (Or wave, be repressed if all you like) and head back to the car.

Not how it is now.

A half mile away from the airport, stop and go traffic begins.

And this is LA “Fuck you” kind of traffic.

This is throat punch road rage country, people.

After 15 minutes spent travelling a distance that I could have walked in 5, I am stop and go rolling down the ramp onto the approach to departures.

It is at this moment that you realize that LA is the only major airport in the US that does not have easy commuter train access to the airport and it shows.

But at least the Los Angeles City Council has 24/7 limo service, I am glad that we could make that happen.

At the bottom of the approach ramp is a checkpoint manned by 3 commandos in bullet-proof vests, AR-15’s and beer bellies.

We are safe as long as the threat is not a 100 yard run away, because the boys do not look like they are up for it.

I keep my hands on the wheel and smile, trying to look as non-terroristy as possible.

I look very IRA but not very Jihady, so I am waved thru Checkpoint Charley.

Stop and Go looked wildly free-flowing compared to this molasses inspired flow.

5 minutes later we have rolled another 100 yards and I am at my terminal.

I feel bad for my ride, it must have taken another hour to get out of the airport.

The airport is a shambles and you wonder if the cleaning staff is on strike.

Like the corporate version of “Barter Town” from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome everything seems official, but dirty and shoddily done.

The only ray of sunshine is the automatic ticket kiosks.

Slot the credit card you over-paid online with and your ticket is printed out without the joy of waiting in line with pissed off travellers to finally deal with the plastic talking head at the airline counter.

I say plastic because I meant plastic.

I have felt more warmth from the Jack in the Box Clown before they blew him up in the 80’s.

I stood on the fringe for a moment and watched one particular “Customer Assistance Team Member” at the counter.

She took resting bitch face to a new level and had a habit of not looking at people as she spoke and speaking as she noisily exhaled.

The only smile I saw what when a bag weighed more than 50lbs.

Her face lite up like Christmas come early.

“I’m sorry, your bag is over-weight.”

This was delivered like Pennywise from the Stephen King movie “IT”.

And was every bit as chilling.

Moving on.

The modern day cattle line has a new twist.

Every now and then, the TSA agent will pick a few people at random to go thru the “Easy” line.

This is the line where you can keep your shoes on and they don’t xray you.

I am one of the few that does not hate TSA.

Mainly because I have flown thru privatized airport security and its the same.

9/11 is the problem, not TSA.

The line goes quickly, mainly because I was capturing Pokemon the whole time and I hatched an egg. (Sure, I am the only one doing it.)

Once I got thru the xray, explained the oddities that you cannot recognize by shadows in my bag and got my shoes back on, I now have an hour to kill because it went too fast.

And then, I see it.

Starbucks.

My faith in the Almighty is reborn.

Java is my God and I am its prophet.

Mmmm Coffee.

 

(PS – You get extra points if you got the title.)

 
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Posted by on August 19, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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