I enjoy airports, for the most part.  It’s the best place to people-watch and create little stories about who they are and where they’re going.  There was the beautiful woman wearing yoga pants that seemed to be painted on (she had no underwear on, we all could see that) and a sports bra who must have been flying to Iceland for the annual “Miss Herring Pudding Contest.”  I chatted a little bit with a large sized man who was taking a spur-of-the-moment trip to Salt Lake City to see his sister who had recently been in a car accident, and I wondered how in the world the strip club would survive without its best bouncer for a whole week.  And of course there were the traveling babies, all of which were being used as drug mules by the Canadian Mafia.

Why else would someone subject a newborn to a pressurized environment?  Unless it’s some sort of sick joke on the hundreds of other passengers as we are forced to listen to the constant shrieking.

I always try to arrive to the airport a bit early because of how long it usually takes to go through security.  What with bomb-sniffing dogs, shoe-removal, belt-removal, placement of electronics into twenty-seven different bins, random pat-downs because of cargo shorts, the inevitable swab of luggage because someone smoked a joint near my carry-on at some point in the past, and then the re-gathering of all your miscellaneous crap… airport security can take quite a bit of time.  This particular trip, however, I was shuffled through the metal detectors in about five seconds with nary a hassle.  Worrisome for paranoid passengers, but it gave me a spare hour to walk to the opposite end of the terminal, and ride the train back to my gate.

Three times.

Something I don’t enjoy about flying is the absurdity of the baggage rules.  I had to check my primary bag because it contained a… let’s call it a “piece of glass art used for intimate recreation”… that could be considered a “weapon.”  I get it… a seven inch piece of solid glass with a rounded end could easily be used as a club and incapacitate any secret Air Marshall, the attendants, and pilots (once I used the glass rod to break down the security door to the cockpit).  I cough up the twenty-five bucks without much complaint.  However, I do complain once I get to the gate and the airline offers complimentary (i.e. FREE) baggage check plus a piece of candy to those passengers willing to now check their luggage!  It’s a completely unfair system.  I did the responsible thing and checked my luggage; where’s my piece of god-damn candy!?

I really wish that decent airlines would either:
– charge people for baggage check at the gates.  You board last and can’t find luggage space, tough shit.  Pay up or leave the bag(s) behind.
– OR have free baggage up to a specific weight limit.  So people who need to bring athletic equipment, or larger luggage, or a kitchen sink would have to pay a fee.  But everyone who just has a normal size suitcase (like what they currently allow for carry-on) with normal inventory (clothes, small gifts, sex toys) doesn’t pay a cent.

I know, Southwest doesn’t charge for baggage.  I said “decent airlines.”

And how the fuck did a group of college-aged assholes get razor scooters past security as carry-on luggage?  Not only did I pay $25, but also I got to be run over by 20 year old dick-holes riding around an airport on scooters!?

Yet, despite that small complaint… and the terrible turbulence when landing in Phoenix that almost made me vomit (twice)… and always being stuck with the rude, non-talkative, smelly passenger as my seat neighbor… and being given pretzels, which is the worst of the possible airplane snack options… and having to wait thirty minutes for luggage to make it to baggage claim… and it taking nearly an hour to get my rental car because by the time I got to the service counter, the company was closing up the garage and I needed to wait for the keys to be brought securely to the counter… my recent romp through three airports was fairly pleasant.

I mean… that woman in the yoga pants was insanely hot.

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