The fanciful thoughts of holidays to far flung destinations are enough to fill you with warm fuzzy feelings as you leave cold miserable En-ger-land and disembark onto a land of sexy sunshine. No work, no worries, no brainer. Airports are supposed to be (in my head anyways) the middle man between you and 500 degrees in the Caribbean seas! The transaction from you to your hotel resort should be smooth and hassle free… as if you are floating on a cloud of jelly babies. So why is it when you get to an airport there often are so many issues which makes you wanna throw your passport at the bird on the check in desk and offer to give the dude on security a paper cut with your boarding card!
If it’s not volcanic ash and snow messing with your holiday, you get nobs employed by reputable airlines to bring on the misery. To be fair, if I worked at an airport I would be pretty suicidal watching thousands of people day in day out go on holiday as you sit in your awful pastel coloured uniform asking the over excited members of public “did you pack the bag yourself!” Oi you miserable bastards… smile once in a while and rejoice the fact that I haven’t got so smashed in the Irish pub at 5am and wanna cause a scene because “I’m on ‘oliday innit!”
And what’s the deal with the security check point where you have to take off your clothes and get molested by a butch lesbian! Granted it’s probably the most sex I’m ever gonna have… BUT It’s bad enough that I’m Black so guaranteed to get wrestled to the floor at any given time or have an Alsatian sniff my bum hole… but you make me remove items of clothing too! Is there any need to get undressed, shuffle through the metal detector for this to then go bananas coz I forgot I had a tin of Vaseline in my back pocket, and then be told to raise your arms. Yes I would love to cooperate scary security mistress lady, but I need my arms to hold up my trousers which has no belt!!
I took a wee trip to Dublin a few months back and I wasn’t allowed to take through a bottle of hair lotion but scissors were completely fine! Huh?! I also got the arse ache with some lady in Fiji arguing about whether my lip balm was a liquid or not! Yes she was technically right… but once you start an argument you feel the need to follow through even though your point is complete shite. Bottles of water are also quite funny. Apparently an Evian water bottle is enough to bring down a plane and detonate a bomb. Absolute cocks.
I also enjoy the anxiety and fuss around the departure gate when you’re about to board a plane which has allocated seating. The clue is in the title… allocated seating! So you’ve already got your boarding pass with your designated seat number and you’re guaranteed your spot on the plane BUT oh no no… us Brits like to spack out and start queues… for no real reason except we’re mental. I often sit there laughing and ridiculing the muppets who begin queuing when there are ample seats at the gate and we’re not due to leave for another 45 mins. But then the anxiety/paranoia/boredom starts to kick in and you think that they know something you don’t… so like a lemming you too join the ridiculous line. I think airports should employ someone to just go around and slap people who queue unnecessarily around the head, or simply throw flip flops at them. That would show ‘em!
Sadly I always seem to be on the verge of tears/rage before take-off purely because I’ve had a row with 28 members of staff beforehand and the general public… generally annoy the feck out of me. Ah the joys of airports. Designed to piss me off ever so slightly and kill my holiday buzz. I love it.