holiday aftermath

the thought just occurred to me that, since the kids are entertained elsewhere with the boys, and the house is quiet, and i have no responsibilities (save ironing tomorrow's uniform), dude. i can write!! it's been such a while since i have had the time, quiet, and motivation. so here i iz. writing. sweet.

there are a great number of incidents at work that pass by me on a daily basis that merit a head shake, a small chortle into my sleeve or a guffaw after the passenger is out of earshot. those are the passengers who, after going through the metal detector six times, realize that their cell phone has metal in it. those are the ladies who thought that the liquid restrictions only applied to water. those are the dudes who look me in the eye and place their boarding passes underneath their laptops - under their laptop bags - and then roll their eyes when we have to go fetch it all back again. and then there are the truly stellar dumb-fucks. i write about those. people do some crazy shit over the holidays. i mean, peeps lose their cotton-pickin minds.

there were a couple of individuals (on different days) who warranted a second look. mannerisms that just weren't quite right for various reasons. like....ShoeMan, who was talking to his shoe and then licked it before sending it through the xray. yeeeah-no. and then there was Jesus Freak who claimed to have diplomatic immunity because he was a man of the cloth. he went ape-shit after being selected by his airline to undergo additional screening, calling my colleagues names like "fucking arab scum" and "low-life government monkeys." he was trouble from start to finish, telling us that we did not have his spiritual permission from his god above to touch his holy book. it was a bible...wrapped in dirty underwear with cheese slices used as bookmarks. i wish i was kidding, folks. he sprinkled as many merry-christmases as he did fuck-all-of-yous into each sentence. the last thing i heard from him was, "you do not have the right to treat me like a criminal!!!!" as he was being cuffed for threatening to blow us all away. that guy didn't make his flight.

then there was the day that we had some interesting ladies entertain us. Light-Fingered Susie was wearing four shirts, three pair of jeans and a skirt....all with security tags attached. because she set off the metal detector (um, duh) and we could not clear her to pass to the airplane, she (along with her two bags stuffed full of merchandise) was asked to leave and return without security-tagged clothing. the same day, while observing my trainee complete a bag check, a sweet little cockroach crawled right up out of that handbag - purse, folks! used every day!! - and scared the piss out of my trainee. i took the woman's wallet and smeared that little fucker all over the inside of her purse. then we changed our gloves. and both washed our hands. twice. and bathed in alcohol.

of course, it wouldn't be christmas without all the pissed off passengers who wrap their stupid prezzies and send them through the xray. man, i rip through those bad boys like they were wrapped for me. makes a sucky day brighter to open presents, especially since i can't keep them. and then we have the odd assortment of people who simply must bring their own 20 pound christmas ham in their carryon. and cell phones removed from their clamshell cases and wrapped in newspaper, walmart sacks and duct tape. stacked with 8 jars of kimchi. or a five pound brick of cheese with watches scotch-taped to it. wait, what?? yeah, send that guy into the box and check all his stuff. cheese and watches don't make good appetizers.

and it isn't just the passengers. the crew members, unfortunately, must go through this set of hoops as well. the ones that make me mad are the ones that know the rules and just ignore me. metal detectors don't care if you fly the plane. neither do i. empty those pockets into the bowl and take your electronics out of their bags. and for the love of socks, to the skycaps who push wheelchairs through the airport 700 times a day: GET SOME PANTS THAT FIT!! your belt has to come off, your pants always fall down and i am done, past done, with your boxers.

but the very tippety-top this year, the custom, hand-sculpted topping on the lemon-chiffon-with-ribbons-of-cream-cheese-and-whipped-lemon-curd-icing-cake, was Chainsaw Sally (and Friends). because really, who brings a chainsaw on an airplane? anyone? anyone have that answer? Chainsaw Sally not only brought her tool, but lube for it, and fuel as well, and was completely aghast at being told to pack her shit and check that bag. and no. no one offered to help her re-pack. in the wise, wise words of supervisor Patty: "you should know better than to bring that on a plane. you got it in there in the first place. you figure out how to get it back in. now go." that was a first for every single solitary person on the checkpoint. but it doesn't stop there. in the past seven days, we have had not one, not two, but three (count 'em!!) THREE chainsaws through our checkpoint. a record for the airport. ever.

cotton-pickin minds.


stupid questions of the season (asked by grownups, i shit you not):

what's a boarding pass?
what i said: um, that paper thingy with your name and that special place you want to go printed on it. it's prolly in your bag because i asked you to hold on to it.
what i thought: that piece of paper that you just had in your hand less than 5 seconds ago, dumbass.

is that mine?
what i said: well, it doesn't look like santa's. his has white fur on it.
what i thought: how the fuck should i know? do i look like your fucking babysitter?

where did you put my bag?
what i said: i did not at any time place my hands on your belongings. where did you put your bag?
what i thought: up your ass, next to your head.

what happened to my shoes?
what i said: that depends on where you left them.
what i thought: your feet stank, so they totally left you behind to fend for yourself.

how does it go in? (pointing to the xray machine)
what i said: um, when i'm ready to press this button, the black part moves and your suitcase rolls in like magic.
what i thought: ask your mom. she has lots of experience with things that go in.

(from a woman with no foreign accent whatsoever, prolly 2nd gen, born & raised red, white & blue...)
are we in america? are you sure? because the water here tastes like mexican water. i went to the university of maryland and the water tasted good there. it didn't taste like this water, so we must be in mexico. are you sure we are in america?
what i said: yeah. you're definitely in america. matter of fact, i'mma get you someone to help you with that question. he's a nice man. we call them police officers in america.
what i thought: you are off your meds in a serious way, lady. no one in that state of mind should be able to get on a plane.


cotton-pickin minds.