Sunday, November 28, 2004

Airport Stories

Yeah, airport stories. Everyone's got them. Me, too! And because I did absolutely nothing else while I was visiting my parents (okay, it's a lie....I ate and slept) I have to share my airport stories.

MSP - I'm flying out of some no name airline that even I have never heard of before. So no name airlines fly out of Terminal B. Ummm...WTF?!?! Could Terminal B be farther away from, oh, I don't know, ANYTHING? I took the airport tram to the END OF THE LINE and then still had to walk 343234387874347 miles. Some thoughts while wandering around the airport:

1) Non-stop flights now available from Minneapolis to Asheville, NC. Ummm...well, other than that bitchy girl from North Carolina in my department who talks real slow, but is quick to point out the flaws in other people's fashion choices, does anyone NEED that service? Or is that Northwest's annoying way of forcing folks TO HAVE A LAYOVER IN THE SOUTH?

2) There are huge bathroom stalls here in Terminal B. That's good when you have huge oversized suitcases like me. Side note: is it wrong that all I packed in my suitcase was dirty laundry? I didn't bring a single clean item with me. Because I'm a slacker. Hi mom and dad! Just point me in the direction of the laundry room!! I'll be there all night!! Right. So, nice bathroom stall sizes, but there aren't any televisions in Terminal B. All we have for entertainment is the world around us, full of stressed out holiday travelers who aren't use to having to walk all the fucking way to Terminal B. So, no CNN, but that's okay because that little boy is about to drive his toy car about that man's leg. I don't think that man knows the little boy. Ah, yes, there's the yell. Damn, woman, watch your damn child. Excuse me, sir, but could you watch your language in front of the children here?

3) Why was that flight attendant eating yogurt in the bathroom? I know that they are sizeable bathrooms and that the primping area is pretty plush, but EWWWW.

4) I spent some time in Fucking Milwaukee. At first I liked it as a layover place because it was fun to say. Milwaukee. Milwaukee. Milwaukee. If you say it enough times, you'll think you're smart and know another language. Anyway, all was fine in Milwaukee if you ignore the fact that it's boring as hell and all the food places are OUTSIDE of the terminal. Pre-9/11 and Homeland Security bullshit, that would be fine, but this is NOT pre-9/11, baby. Move those things into the terminal. Anyway, on my way back today, my flight from Fucking Milwaukee to MSP was cancelled and I had to catch a flight from a different airline (not such a no name airline this time). In order to get my new ticket, I had to go OUT of the terminal and RECHECK in. Great. So that meant I had to go through security AGAIN. And I was selected for the special security screening. Let me tell you what, the special security screening that allows for me to get molested is known as fourth degree sexual assault in Wisconsin. I looked up the statute. Here it is as follows: Fourth Degree Sexual Assault - A person can be imprisoned not more than nine months in the county jail and or fined not more than $10,000 for sexual contact with a person without consent of that person or sexual intercourse, with or without consent, with a person 16 or 17 years old. I am, of course, in the former category. My boobs should be felt only be a select number of people. I can think of two people who should touch my boobs and I am one of them. And the TSA lady at Fucking Milwaukee is not the other.

5) Funny guy behind me on the plane from Fucking Milwaukee to Grand Rapids. He was wearing a salmon pink shirt with FISH ON IT. Between him and the guy from my math class with the moose fleece, I wonder if anyone knows that the only animals that should be on shirts are PIGS. Because PIGS RULE.

My friend Jody is getting married next summer. I'm to be the maid of honor. She is putting together what looks like a kickass web page for it and asked me if I had any digital pictures of myself to include on the section that has my name on it. Huh? Pictures? That don't have Kodak on the back? How does that even work?

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