Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Airport Adventures

Upon returning to Toronto from Boca Chica, I opted to stop over in Miami for a day. I love that city.

I thought I would be really smart and only pack a carry on, get there at 9 and South Beach it up til my flight at 5. I booked my flight to be there for Independence Day by accident. I left Toronto on Marty's birthday. Which I forgot about. I'm not the best at remembering things.

First of all, on my flight to Miami, I got sat with a tween who smelled like a cheese foot (don't they all? Grow up, Tweens. So disgusting!) and a girl about my age who would not stop sobbing. Where is the SUICIDE BUTTON, American Airlines??!? Like seriously, I did not purchase my copy of Savor The Moment (trade paperback, thank you very much) only to have my book-reading time disturbed by Smelly Tears over there. I had the window seat, so it was next to impossible to ascertain who was doing all the stinking.

No matter. I'll just put my trusty headphones on to drown out the crying and watch the in-flight film. They played that Tooth Fairy movie, starring "The Rock" on my way there, so whatever they throw at me can't be worse than that. WRONG!! Old Dogs. That one with John Travolta and Robin Williams. It's a long 3 hours.

Once we arrive on land, everyone with a connecting flight is directed to pick up their luggage and go through customs with it. Haha, SUCKERS! This was the whole reason I just brought a carry-on.

I have to take a moment to pause and punch myself for not bringing a camera with me.


As I smugly wave goodbye to all the assholes having to go wait for their luggage and go through additional security, I get stopped by a miniature security officer. I'm 5'3, so any man I have to look down to is hardly a man at all. He's like a G.I Joe toy!! But I know better than to treat him like one. The "Talk Back" areas in international airports is the last place I ever want to be in. Again.

The problem here is that Officer Cookie Elf speaks in whisper decibels, or maybe I'm still deaf from the flight. I don't want to lean down to listen because I feel like that would be patronizing, but I also don't want to not do what he says. What a pickle! I sort of cross my legs and hunch, pretending like I have to pee so I can hear his instructions.

He tells me I have to pick up my bags and go through customs prior to leaving the airport. Triumphantly, I tell him I don't have any bags, just my backpack, and prepare to stroll on merrily past. He stops me and tries to convince me that it's my only chance to pick up my bags, because they aren't going straight through to Toronto without me clearing them through customs first. He literally asks me to be absolutely sure I have no bags coming through. Yes sir, I am absolutely positive I didn't pack an entire suitcase, check it in at the last airport I was in, and forget about it in the last 3 hours.

On the way out the door I am pretty sure I walked through 5 meter radius fart.

Not the best airport experience.

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