Wednesday, May 11, 2005
traveling
Airport security
I am currently sitting in the Columbus international airport. People milling around, attempting to make time pass more quickly. Now, after hours of staring blankly at the walls I have discovered a great way to pass the time. Turn the security checkpoint into a spectator sport.
There is nothing better than the pained expressions on the faces of passengers and the bored pointed look of those going through the motions of a job they know is lacking in reality.
I turned “extreme security check” into a sport as well as a drinking game. One drink every time they pat down a person over the age or 70. Two drinks if the person is in a wheel chair.
My 82-year-old grandmother who is in a wheelchair was patted down, wanded, and swabbed for explosives.
I, on the other hand, was wearing an “anarchy” tee shirt with a bad religion jacket, and more electronics in my bag than any sane person should carry was passed through without a second look. I guess granny looks the part of a hardened (hard of hearing, maybe) criminal.
The flight
I know that I am not the first to say it, but dear god there should be an age minimum on planes. Maybe a special sections at the back for the short and bouncy.
I have two small children behind me. They seem to be playing lasers from the safety and constraint of their seats.
On the one hand I feel I cannot be too upset about these two wiggling masses of noise. They are, for the most part, behaving. There have been no tears or screaming for the past 3 hours.
However, the other hand holds 2 wonderful hours of a 3 year olds whistling. Now they have moved on to blasting each other with invisible, but ridiculously loud, “hand” guns. Not to mention the mandatory kicking of the seat and slamming of the tray table.
The whistling is back.
Anyone have any morphine. It’s not for me…
I am currently sitting in the Columbus international airport. People milling around, attempting to make time pass more quickly. Now, after hours of staring blankly at the walls I have discovered a great way to pass the time. Turn the security checkpoint into a spectator sport.
There is nothing better than the pained expressions on the faces of passengers and the bored pointed look of those going through the motions of a job they know is lacking in reality.
I turned “extreme security check” into a sport as well as a drinking game. One drink every time they pat down a person over the age or 70. Two drinks if the person is in a wheel chair.
My 82-year-old grandmother who is in a wheelchair was patted down, wanded, and swabbed for explosives.
I, on the other hand, was wearing an “anarchy” tee shirt with a bad religion jacket, and more electronics in my bag than any sane person should carry was passed through without a second look. I guess granny looks the part of a hardened (hard of hearing, maybe) criminal.
The flight
I know that I am not the first to say it, but dear god there should be an age minimum on planes. Maybe a special sections at the back for the short and bouncy.
I have two small children behind me. They seem to be playing lasers from the safety and constraint of their seats.
On the one hand I feel I cannot be too upset about these two wiggling masses of noise. They are, for the most part, behaving. There have been no tears or screaming for the past 3 hours.
However, the other hand holds 2 wonderful hours of a 3 year olds whistling. Now they have moved on to blasting each other with invisible, but ridiculously loud, “hand” guns. Not to mention the mandatory kicking of the seat and slamming of the tray table.
The whistling is back.
Anyone have any morphine. It’s not for me…
posted by Jody @ 7:40 PM 
