Dear Airport

Why is it that I get so excited when I’m going to see you?  It’s usually great news that we’re to be together again.  It means I’m going on an adventure.  I look forward to seeing you. And you ruin it every time. 

The most important thing on arrival at the airport, is to get rid of the suitcase.  So I get into the queue, and stand there for a few minutes, watching the people who are supposed to be checking us all in chatting to each other, discussing the night before and what have you.  Eventually, they turn to us, the paying customers, and start patronising us and giving out to us all.

I wait nervously, continuously picking up my suitcase and trying to guess what weight it is.  When I get to the top of the queue, His Nibs starts blathering on about how my case couldn’t weigh less than 20kg, and trying to place bets with me on how much extra I’ll have to pay.

This pisses me off royally, and by the time I’ve staggered around trying to get my case onto the conveyor, I’m snarling and barking and probably look like the most horrible customer ever.  So as soon as they check the weight of the bag, they decide not to let me away with the extra luggage, and send me off to the credit card machine to pay my extra twenty euro per kilo.

This drives me completely bonkers, since usually I have tried to book a flight advertised at ninety nine cent and have somehow ended up paying seventy five euro.

I don’t always pay,of course.  Sometimes I just start taking my dirty laundry out of the case and stuffing it into my hand luggage.  If the hand luggage is already over 10kg, I don’t want to risk them asking any questions, and so I go and pay the extra, bile in my throat and revenge in my heart.  His Nibs usually waves me goodbye as he skips off through security without me.

Once I’ve finally got rid of the pigging case, it’s the next little adventure.  Security.  I’m not sure why they seem so surprised, in airports, when lots of people want to go through at the same time. 

I’m not good at queuing.  I start thinking that everyone in the queue should be able to move a bit faster, get on with it, hurry up.  And as we get closer to the doorway, I want to hit the people who suddenly start looking for their passports and boarding passes when they’re asked for them.

Of course, they’re not as bad as the people who seem really surprised to learn that they’re not allowed to bring liquids, or gels, or dangerous items through security with them.

Are His Nibs and I the only people this happens to? Some gobshite starts arguing with the staff that they want to bring their 2l bottle of water through with them, or that their perfume is too expensive to hand over.

Well then put it in your hold luggage, for God’s sake.  Or invest in one of those little atomisers that cost about a fiver, and you can put some of your perfume into. Just don’t stand there arguing and whining and acting surprised.

And I’m sure the staff hope that everybody would just go through the scanning machine.  They don’t want to be waving those little wands over us all, I’d imagine.  So why is there always someone who forgets to remove their intimate piercings, or doesn’t want to take their huge studded boots off?

A gentleman of my acquaintance, not His Nibs for a change, insists on wearing braces everywhere he goes, and has almost caused an international incident with the little metal adjusters that sit somewhere around his nipple area, making the security staff think he has a bomb strapped around him.  He’s in his seventies, and seemed to enjoy the attention, but his wife wasn’t amused at all.

Once we’re finally through the whole security business, and get to the gate, all that’s left to be got through is the ridiculous wait while the staff arse about until after the time when the boarding gates are scheduled to be closed, before even letting us get into the queue.  Then we all get to stand in the aisle of the plane trying to get around the fools who like to spend ten minutes foostering through their luggage before sitting down. 

Once we’re in our seats we wait to be told we’ll have to sit on the tarmac for an hour because there’s leaves on the runway or some other nonsense, and then we're off on the adventure at last.

You’re ruining my airport experiences.  Stop it, or I’ll make everything grind to a halt by planting bottles of water in all the other passengers’ luggage.