Airport Security Still Hates Me − 4 June, 2008
Headed out today for a few days of training in St Louis. Usually airports and I don't get along, and today was no different. Of course.
First, when I arrived at the airport, all the lots were filled. All of them. I ended up driving around the cheap-o, out-in-the-boonies parking lot until I found a returning passenger to follow back to their car. I would have thought it would freak someone out to have a car tailing them as they walked along, but it seemed to be all too common today. Though, I swear this guy walked slow on purpose when he saw I was following him. Whatever. I got the fucking parking spot.
Had to then catch the shuttle bus to the terminal. The fucker was full up, I was running late, and there wouldn't be another one for 15 minutes. Damn it all to hell. I squeezed on the bus and immediately noticed there would have been double the room if people would use the damn shelves for their suitcases instead of putting them in the aisle or on the seat next to them. Seriously, people: what the fuck?!
Checking in wasn't too bad, but the poor efficiency at the ticketing counters always amazes me. I had to feel sorry for the two poor bastards behind the counter trying to man six positions at once.
Ok, bag checked, boarding pass in hand, now it's time to go through security and head to the gate. Fucking security. More often than not I get stopped for something. It hasn't been bad the past few years, though, so I felt a karmic sucker-punch coming up.
I took my shoes off and put them in a bin. My belt also came off, since it has been a hindrance to getting through the metal detector in the past. I took my laptop out of my backpack and put it in a separate bin. All my bins went through just fine. My turn.
The metal detector beeped at me. The security screener on the other side asked me to step back and go through again. I obliged, wondering what the hell was setting it off -- the only metal on my person were the fucking fillings in my teeth.
The goddamned thing beeped again. I was then motioned to the area where they use the hand-held detector on you. I refer to the hand-held detector as the probe. I get probed a lot. If aliens ever decide to invade armed with their probes, I'll be well-prepared.
There I stood, like I was in the middle of a jumping-jack, while another screener waved the probe around me. Damned if that stupid thing didn't start beeping at random spots all over the place. The screeners eyes were like saucers -- he must have thought I had all sorts of crap duct-taped to my body. He nervously stepped away from me and called out, "Pat down!"
Aw, shit.
The screener escorted me to little wooden shack they had erected "for the privacy and dignity of passengers." So, I'm supposed to go into this little cabana with a guy wearing rubber gloves? I looked at the guy and said, "You can just do the pat-down out here. I really don't care."
"Sorry, sir, you may be required to remove clothing."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No sir. Please step inside."
Spread eagle once again, the guy patted me down. Then patted me down again. And again.
"Sir, I can't seem to detect anything beneath your clothing. Please remove your shirt and pants."
I sighed in resignation -- at least I wasn't going commando today. Just as I was about to drop trou, there was a knock at the door.
"Hey, Jim! Did you use the wand with yellow stripes out here?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Why?"
"Because it's broken. We set it off to the side so no one would use it. It just beeps randomly."
"Oh, ok." We then exited the love shack and he then went back to his station.
WHAT THE FUCK?! I get probed with a defective device which led to me getting fondled repeatedly and almost to a state of near-nakedness in front of the ambiguously gay screener, and I don't even get a "Sorry, sir. My bad." Honestly, a simple apology would have been all I needed -- I know these guys have a tough, thankless job, but so do a lot of people. It doesn't give you the right to be an inconsiderate prick.
If I wasn't about to miss my flight, I would have done something other than stand there dumb-founded for a few seconds before grabbing my shoes, laptop, and backpack and bolting for the gate.
Now we come to the flight. Southwest Airlines has gone to the format of "free-for-all" seating -- there are no assigned seats. Some people may like this; I am not one of those people. This time, it wasn't too bad since everyone piled up near the front of the plane so they could rush out like good little busy Americans. I had the whole back of the plane to myself.
But, the flight was destined to match up with the rest of my day so far. First, it was several delays as they kept pausing the refueling process due to potential lightning. When the refueling was finally done, we were delayed due to lightning within three miles. Then, we had to wait in line behind all the other flights that had been similarly delayed. Over an hour later, we were finally in the air.
This turned out to not be a good thing. Well, for some of the other passengers. It was a bit entertaining for me. We had to fly through the storm system that had been delaying us. Turbulence was quite impressive; many people were white-knuckling their armrests, some nervously craned their necks to see out the windows, I think one poor woman was crying, and a few small children were squealing with delight as if it were a roller-coaster.
Landing, getting the rental car, and getting to the hotel went mercifully smooth. Which is why I am sitting in my hotel room writing an incredibly long story on essentially nothing.
Yep, happy hour had already come and gone at the bar by the time I got here.
First, when I arrived at the airport, all the lots were filled. All of them. I ended up driving around the cheap-o, out-in-the-boonies parking lot until I found a returning passenger to follow back to their car. I would have thought it would freak someone out to have a car tailing them as they walked along, but it seemed to be all too common today. Though, I swear this guy walked slow on purpose when he saw I was following him. Whatever. I got the fucking parking spot.
Had to then catch the shuttle bus to the terminal. The fucker was full up, I was running late, and there wouldn't be another one for 15 minutes. Damn it all to hell. I squeezed on the bus and immediately noticed there would have been double the room if people would use the damn shelves for their suitcases instead of putting them in the aisle or on the seat next to them. Seriously, people: what the fuck?!
Checking in wasn't too bad, but the poor efficiency at the ticketing counters always amazes me. I had to feel sorry for the two poor bastards behind the counter trying to man six positions at once.
Ok, bag checked, boarding pass in hand, now it's time to go through security and head to the gate. Fucking security. More often than not I get stopped for something. It hasn't been bad the past few years, though, so I felt a karmic sucker-punch coming up.
I took my shoes off and put them in a bin. My belt also came off, since it has been a hindrance to getting through the metal detector in the past. I took my laptop out of my backpack and put it in a separate bin. All my bins went through just fine. My turn.
The metal detector beeped at me. The security screener on the other side asked me to step back and go through again. I obliged, wondering what the hell was setting it off -- the only metal on my person were the fucking fillings in my teeth.
The goddamned thing beeped again. I was then motioned to the area where they use the hand-held detector on you. I refer to the hand-held detector as the probe. I get probed a lot. If aliens ever decide to invade armed with their probes, I'll be well-prepared.
There I stood, like I was in the middle of a jumping-jack, while another screener waved the probe around me. Damned if that stupid thing didn't start beeping at random spots all over the place. The screeners eyes were like saucers -- he must have thought I had all sorts of crap duct-taped to my body. He nervously stepped away from me and called out, "Pat down!"
Aw, shit.
The screener escorted me to little wooden shack they had erected "for the privacy and dignity of passengers." So, I'm supposed to go into this little cabana with a guy wearing rubber gloves? I looked at the guy and said, "You can just do the pat-down out here. I really don't care."
"Sorry, sir, you may be required to remove clothing."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No sir. Please step inside."
Spread eagle once again, the guy patted me down. Then patted me down again. And again.
"Sir, I can't seem to detect anything beneath your clothing. Please remove your shirt and pants."
I sighed in resignation -- at least I wasn't going commando today. Just as I was about to drop trou, there was a knock at the door.
"Hey, Jim! Did you use the wand with yellow stripes out here?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Why?"
"Because it's broken. We set it off to the side so no one would use it. It just beeps randomly."
"Oh, ok." We then exited the love shack and he then went back to his station.
WHAT THE FUCK?! I get probed with a defective device which led to me getting fondled repeatedly and almost to a state of near-nakedness in front of the ambiguously gay screener, and I don't even get a "Sorry, sir. My bad." Honestly, a simple apology would have been all I needed -- I know these guys have a tough, thankless job, but so do a lot of people. It doesn't give you the right to be an inconsiderate prick.
If I wasn't about to miss my flight, I would have done something other than stand there dumb-founded for a few seconds before grabbing my shoes, laptop, and backpack and bolting for the gate.
Now we come to the flight. Southwest Airlines has gone to the format of "free-for-all" seating -- there are no assigned seats. Some people may like this; I am not one of those people. This time, it wasn't too bad since everyone piled up near the front of the plane so they could rush out like good little busy Americans. I had the whole back of the plane to myself.
But, the flight was destined to match up with the rest of my day so far. First, it was several delays as they kept pausing the refueling process due to potential lightning. When the refueling was finally done, we were delayed due to lightning within three miles. Then, we had to wait in line behind all the other flights that had been similarly delayed. Over an hour later, we were finally in the air.
This turned out to not be a good thing. Well, for some of the other passengers. It was a bit entertaining for me. We had to fly through the storm system that had been delaying us. Turbulence was quite impressive; many people were white-knuckling their armrests, some nervously craned their necks to see out the windows, I think one poor woman was crying, and a few small children were squealing with delight as if it were a roller-coaster.
Landing, getting the rental car, and getting to the hotel went mercifully smooth. Which is why I am sitting in my hotel room writing an incredibly long story on essentially nothing.
Yep, happy hour had already come and gone at the bar by the time I got here.
Comments:
stretch65 (June 5, 2008. 06:05pm)
I think Murphy's Law had something to do with it?!?