Flying Part 1
It’s all about the classes; “Full Metal Jacket” meets any Joan Crawford movie
Hubby and I are going to visit our kids in Boston. The airport is bumper to bumper people and I have to say the obvious out loud. “Boy is it crowded. It’s Thanksgiving crowded. Bono at his own concert couldn’t take this kind of crowded.”
“It’s spring break and Easter rolled into one week,” hubby says.
“And Passover. But no one’s ever heard of Passover. It’s like Bora Bora in the 1950s. It’s some foreign, exotic, far away holiday. Forget Yom Kippur-- unless your kid goes to a school with more than 50 Jewish students. I’m thrilled when I go to the bank and see an electric menorah tucked away in a corner during Christmas.”
There are a plethora of signs. Our eyes dart in every direction, trying to locate the correct line. I’m MVP on Alaska Airlines and am hoping for some special treatment, but there’s no sign for my category. We pass the marker for First Class passengers with a line surprisingly long for the pricier tickets. One man with thinning silver hair glowers with impatience. If he was four years old, he would be having a tantrum. I’m always curious about the First-Class passengers. I rubberneck in their direction and my reaction is usually, “Oooo, I love her Chanel boots,” or, “Dang, you better not check that Louis luggage; you’ll never see those initials again.” (LV for the less label-conscious of my readers.)
We continue to the Baggage Drop Only line.
“Maybe we should stand on the Ticketing AND Bag Drop line. There are fewer people.”
“Aren’t you MVP?” hubby says.
“Yeah.”
“First class line also accepts MVPers.”
“Really?” I say joyfully. “Maybe I can rub elbows with that Gucci purse.”
We head back, swerving between people and luggage of all sizes. But there’s an Alaska employee directing those who are “dropping bags only” to a different line.
“But I’m MVP. I know it’s not MVP Gold but—”
“Back to the other line, please,” says Alaska employee.
Hubby follows me back to the Bag Drop Only line, which is now, in just the two minutes of doubling back, double the length.
It proceeds quickly. Alaska employee had good advice after all.
We’re searching for our third line. First was printing out baggage tags at the kiosk, then dumping our luggage and now TSA. We can’t find the sign for our big splurge— Precheck. Silver- haired-glower man from First Class is on some sort of line, so I ask him, “Is this Precheck?”
“Clear,” he says sternly. If he could, he might have said in a drill Sergeant voice, “Clear is for those who can pay through the nose (and eyes) to stand on a line that’s two feet shorter than Precheck. So there.” And maybe I would throw one arm against my forehead and in a 1940’s melodramatic defense declare, “I may not be first class, but I’m middle class, ya hear me? I know I’m not the best customer but I—I play by the rules.” (“Full Metal Jacket” meets any Joan Crawford movie.)
After walking through a maze of peopled rows, we find Precheck. It’s in the Delta terminal which is less crowded probably because they’ve cancelled yet another flight. (Just last week my daughter was going on a weekend trip and both her outbound and return Delta flights were cancelled.)
The Precheck route winds around threaded separation belts like those at Disneyland. I’m feeling lightheaded, overwhelmed by the number of people at the airport. I’m reminded of the E ticket at Disneyland. Amusement parks, concerts-- I was never big on congested parties either. Give me an intimate gathering where I can have a genuine conversation, preferably near a clean bathroom and I’m happy.
The line moves at a “crush” hour pace. Hubby mimics a cow. (Not moo, but the actual sound a cow makes, “Mmmmm.”)
“I get the cow reference,” I say. He’s been mimicking the cow for 31 years. We’ve stood on hundreds of lines over the decades.
“Too much heifer?”
“It was cute the first time. Not the two hundredth. You know the comedy rule, sweetie, three times is the charm.”
“I haven’t had coffee yet,” he says. “And you’re the comedian.”
“Yeah, but somewhere between our second and fourth move across country you became funnier than me.”
“I had a good teacher,” he says and squeezes my shoulder.
“Once we’re on the other side, we’ll get you your fully-leaded java.”
Stay tuned for Flying Part 2
The other side of TSA
Do you have a wacky airport experience?
Have you seen “Full Metal Jacket?”
How about any Joan Crawford movie?
Once again, you hit it out of the funny park! The thing that hit me about this post was the crowds. Not only do I hate crowds (because people suck), but I would NEVER travel on a holiday if I could avoid it. Our family would celebrate Christmas on the Jehovah Witness' date before traveling close to any holiday. My favorite story was going to see "Jurassic Park" for the first time when it first came out; I was with my buddy Chuck Hamil, and we had gone to Universal City Walk for the full experience. As the ticket buyers got inside, we were stacked 100 deep inside the lobby. Had the fire department chief passed by at that time, they would've had shut down Universal City in its entirety). So we had hundreds of people waiting to rush one or two ticket takers when given the cue (the cue to the queue, I suppose). We happened to be standing next to John Tesh and his wife, Connie Sellecca, and his head was above the crowd. The murmur from the crowd would rise and fall with every movement from a cinema employee. On one of the murmur lulls, when it was fairly calm and quiet, Chuck shouted out
"SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!". Tesh and Connie looked over and started to laugh- hard. I was already doubling over, and the laughter washed over the crowd like the wave at Dodger Stadium. Most of the people didn't even get the reference, but laughed anyway. It was one of the best "crowd" experiences I ever had- but seeing that movie for the first time made it an all-time experience.
Everything in here is dead on. And drop dead funny. Except Passover...we know Passover in the suburbs of Boston. My public elementary school was 70% Jewish. It has been a shock to move to Colorado and have people look at me like an oddity.