By Dana Leaming
(originally posted 16th September on another blog)
I unequivocally dislike airports.
Navigating an airport has became the bane of my existence. It’s just a series of ridiculous mishaps that happen to even the most prepared. First you have to get there in plenty of time which can turn into a shitstorm due to inept motorists (one being myself), then there’s the luggage allowance debacle, security, immigration, other people, waiting in lines, expensive airport food and so much more. No airport has ever given me joy. I must say I’m not entirely sure they are supposed to but they really should look into that.
First there’s always that cheeky bastard who tries to cut the line. They stroll past you with their rolley bag and a rehearsed expression that says, “I don’t know where I am/oh I must be up here in front of all these people who have been waiting for an hour.” You look fortyfive ok, you’ve been on a plane before, you know how this disco plays out. Get to the back of the line.
Then you get through the line to learn your bag is overweight. It is not until you wear 2 pairs of shoes, five t shirts and three jackets at once do you understand the true value your arms have when walking. You mostly look like a disagreeable puffer fish with the stride of a delusional bodybuilder. At one point I couldn’t bend my arm so I had to kind of lob my passport at the desk. It missed so I spent five minutes trying to pick it up as my head banged against the desk.
Then the worst of all is security. I understand the necessity but it’s like how I imagine water torture would be. Long and… Well tortuous.
For example I recently went on holiday to Taiwan and Seoul. It was great, enlightening and all that emotional development stuff but as we we were returning to Japan we encountered the mother of all security forces. The Incheon airport security team. After some delicious but ill advised KFC we joined the security line with a good hour to spare before our gate closed. Somehow I spent 50 minutes in the damn line and as I got through to the standing detector I was patted down, swiped with a hand metal detector and my bag was searched. I’m not known for my calm disposition so it took every good natured bead of sweat hanging off me to merely glare at the security man with a look that said there is no time for dubious random selection my plane leaves in ten bloody minutes. Once through I encountered something nearly as bad as airports. Small children! I nearly catapulted one into the barrier as I careered through to immigration where I just full on cut the line because fuck it. By this time I had 2 minutes. I sprinted like I had never sprinted before with my massive bag of hand luggage clutched to my chest. I vividly remember thinking this is it. This is how I die if not from the fact that I can no longer feel my legs and my lungs have gone to shit but also because I am an ambiguously brown human running full tit through an airport with a large package clutched to my chest. Good God do not shoot or tackle me please, I just want to get on the damn plane.
The most together person fears airports I’m sure of it. I savour the day I can swan through an airport wearing all white without getting one stain on my clothes as I sip an overpriced coffee with my expensive trench coat and tiny impractical purse to my side. But alas that day has never come and I highly doubt it ever will.