Airport Amusement Part 2: The Medium ...

Sometimes I get a bit too ambitious with my blog entries. I start with a concept, but it often meanders and I end up with a veritable novella that creates more questions than answers. One digression leads to another digression that leads to a story three ideas removed from the original premise. So, this is a continuation of my last post. Please reference "Part 1: The Light ..." or the entry immediately below this one.

I love airports. And babies love Vegas (no one is going to get that). Why the love for airports? Why an unrequited affection for the venue that falls only behind the dentist's office on a list of places people love to loathe? The answer is simple: liberation. Airports, even one as modest as Boise's, are little cities in and of themselves. Whether I'm stranded in Dallas, LAX, Orlando, or Sea-Tac, I feel as though I'm going somewhere. Where? Anywhere will do. As long as it's not where I'm at.

As travelers hurry and scurry from terminal to terminal, they're all going somewhere. Airports represent emancipation, because they are the places that are literally nowhere. They have names, they have identities, they have infrastructure and rules and staff. Though, when you're in an airport, you're going somewhere. It might take a couple of hours, it might even take half of a day, but it's certain that you won't be there forever. Shortly, by the magic of air travel, you will be somewhere else.

You know that feeling when you reach your final destination, but it hasn't processed yet? You've landed, stepped on the solid ground, grabbed your bags, and found transportation, but it won't hit you for a few hours that you are halfway across the nation or thousands of miles around the globe. I like to call that phenomenon "Airport Amnesia". The brain and the body must adjust to the concept that you're no longer where you once were. It's magic. Airports are magic. That is one reason why I love airports ... because I love magic!

Another reason I love airports: culture. I'm sure your incredulity just punched you in the face, but hear me out. I'm not talking rich, vibrant cultures. Hell, I'm not even talking about the dull, insipid cultures of the Midwest. I'm talking about the zaniest, weirdest, gift-shop souvenir culture cultures of the cities that these commonwealths try to represent. Sea-Tac has 7,000 coffee shops, Orlando MCO has palm trees, and Dallas-Fort Worth has an impressive smattering of fast-food steak joints that make arteries cry. When I visit these airports, IT'S LIKE I'M VISITING THE CITIES! I don't need to ever go to Dallas because I go the authentic experience when I ate at Dickey's BBQ, had dessert at I Can't Believe It's Yogurt, and bought my trinkets at JP's Dude Ranch! (If you think any of that is fictitious, go there.) Done, put a push-pin on Texas!

Of course I'm kidding, but I do find it hilarious. Airports are quite possibly the worst live-action brochures for any city. Any impression you get from an airport, please forget it the second your plane leaves the ground. As I said, airports aren't even places, they're neverwheres. Your soul doesn't exist in an airport and that should explain the quality of service. They're fun places, airports, but take them for what they are. Enjoy the in-betweens and know that you're off to somewhere better ... or, at least, somewhere that matters.

So, for the countless reasons I love the airport, there are a handful for why I don't. I'll only delve into one today, though: people who don't check their luggage. Holy shit I detest these people. Now, realize that I'm not referring to those who carry a backpack or a few reasonably sized bags. I'm talking about the travelers who insist on saving time by bringing their gargantuan rolling carry-ons on the plane. First clue: it's so heavy you have to roll it. Seems pretty fucking simple to me. "Carry-on" should be literal. If you cannot traverse the concourses without dragging your goddamn bag all over the goddamn airport, you need to check it.

Second clue: security screening. Not only do you have to drag that behemoth around with you, but setting it on the conveyor belt practically causes an equipment malfunction and registers a 5.6 on the Richter Scale. Then, as the machine exasperatingly shakes and struggles to move your bag, we have to watch that thing squeeze through the x-ray like sending dead Hawaiian recording artist Iz down a water slide. After which, it is inevitably selected for additional security screening because you have it jammed with so much shit it's like trying to look through the core of the Earth with a Fisher Price microscope. Saving yourself a lot of time so far, asshole.

Third clue: boarding. This is probably the worst portion of the journey. Because, not only does it make this person look like an idiot, it inconveniences EVERY ONE ELSE ON THE ENTIRE PLANE. Turbo McSavesNoTime is always of course in the middle of boarding so that two things occur. 1) Nearly all of the overhead bins are full by this point and 2) half of the passengers are still waiting to board the plane. So, this individual (usually a guy who you can tell has more time than he's honest with himself about) has an audience watching him from all angles releasing his suppressed rage on his precious carry-on as he savagely jams a bag that is way too big into a slot that is way too small; simultaneously devastating all other items in that particular bin, scaring the fuck out of the half that boarded before him, and annoying the shit out of the half that is impatiently standing behind him just wanting to end this nightmare. Guh.

(However, when I last flew, which was to Denver, those who had carry-ons that could not fit underneath the seats had to semi-check their luggage at the breezeway and pick them up after the flight. When we got off, those inconsiderate SOBs, instead of standing in the comfortably warm terminal with the rest of us, had to wait in the unforgiving Colorado weather while their bags were removed from the plane with no particular urgency. VINDICATION!)

Fourth (and final) clue: deplaning. Shortest, but second-worst step in A Bag's Life. The owners of these bags, though infinitely inconsiderate, are ten times as stupid. They have no grasps of the laws of physics. As soon as we all stand to retrieve our various items and get off the plane, these MFers must get their monstrosities out of the overhead bins. Even though it holds up the line, I'm not even concerned about time anymore ... I'm worried about my safety. Now, I'm not certain whether these people think flying is like going into space and there is less gravity or that their muscle strength after the flight is roughly 50% of what it was when they boarded the plane, but you know ... YOU KNOW ... that these bastards are going to be stunned by the weight of their bags (well, in all fairness, they haven't carried them all goddamn day) and give someone a concussion. At the very least, someone is losing a toe. I've witnessed it more times than I can count. Realizing that it took extreme force to get the bag INTO the compartment, it will take at least that much to get it out, so they yank and they pull and out it eventually comes like a fabric fucking missile to decapitate a fellow passenger.

Unless you have a donated liver or pet iguana in your bag, please do everyone a favor and check it. I promise it isn't that big of a deal.

Other than these imbeciles, I love airports! ;-)