So I had the opportunity for a little trip this past weekend. I actually traveled alone, sans Little Chicks and Better Half. It's something I've done before so I'm used to it by now, save for finding long term parking at the airport, but that's another story. As always, it was a great way to get some solid people watching in. I don't need to tell you how successful people watching can be at an airport. There's a plethora of things to spy on. From the harried mom with two kids and no Better Half to help her (who I always can sympathize with) to the old couple who have traveled maybe 3 times in the 65 years they've been on the planet, to the hippy chick and her boyfriend who is trying to get his surf board through security and stowed as carry-on baggage. It's like a buffet of fun. So let me start my buffet line right here....
Security. Or more specifically the TOES you see in security. That's right, I said it. Toes. With the new rules since that infamous day in our history, shoes must come off and into the buckets to be x-rayed and given close examination in ways you didn't think possible for a pair of shoes. This always leaves me mindful of how recent my pedicure is. I've learned this past weekend that I'm in the minority when it comes to that type of thinking and following is my case in point. The gentleman in front of me had the most ugly big toe I've ever seen. It was long, hairy and I swear, the nail had some funkiness going on. He didn't seem at all bothered by it, and walked along as if it was perfectly normal to have a huge, hairy gorilla as an appendage. And gorilla it was. It most likely was a good half inch longer then the rest of his toes, at least as far as I could estimate from a standing distance. The hair growing off the thing could have rivaled King Kong himself, and I was half expecting to see the tip of a banana appear. I contemplated taking a photo w/my phone, but being in a tight line, I knew my chance of getting caught were high, so I gave up that impulse. You'll have to just believe me, how very disgusting it was. But he seemed nonplussed by the whole thing so I tried to hold my cookies and kept moving.
And while we're on the subject of Security, I need to say one more thing: When you pick up your bucket off the x-ray conveyor belt, MOVE AWAY FROM THE BELT SO THOSE BEHIND YOU MAY GET THEIR ITEMS! Whew, that felt good!
The Talker, you know the one. They. Never. Ever. Shut. Up. From the time you spy them at the ticket counter, to the time you see them disrobing at the front of security, to the time you see they are on your flight, to the time they sit in your general vicinity on the plane, they have a running dialog with whom ever will listen. If you're in a 5 seat radius of The Talker, you're doomed to hear their life history along with any and all ailments that they've been inflicted with. Any children? You'll know about them along with any spouses, children or pets they may have. Job? Don't worry, you'll have a complete resume in your lap by the end of the first hour. Travel plans? You'll know what relative, friend, or job conference, they'll be going to, along with any other thing they have planned on their trip. You'll also find out when their return flight is, which can come in handy. Make note and change YOUR travel plans so as not to run into them on your return. You'll know everything there is to know about The Talker and then some, by the time your 4 hour tour is over. Keep your ear buds and MP3 handy when you travel Friend, you'll need it to drone out The Talker.
Tomato Juice. Ever notice how you're compelled to order a complimentary tomato juice when you fly? What's with that? I know I'm not alone. There's something about that recycled air that calls to have tomato juice thrown in. Never mind that you never buy the stuff at home, you'll always feel compelled to order it when flying. I don't know why....
Finally, my personal demise on this particular trip: Arm Hair Static. I had this happen the whole flight. My hair being statically attracted to the arm hair of the man sitting next to me. The mental image alone is bothersome, never mind the fact that I have arm hair long enough to be statically charged! It was a real struggle not to unbuckle my commercial quality seat belt and run screaming down the narrow aisle. While I contemplated doing just that, the airline attendant stopped at my row, where I ordered my complimentary tomato juice; only to be told they no longer carry it as it's not a popular drink choice. It WAS a real Calamity.
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