I hate airports with a passion. Because I live in foreign places, and because of my job, I travel quite a bit, and it seems like I'm in Manchester airport every other week. And I'm really beginning to loathe the place. The sooner they build some sort of teleportation device, the better, as far as I'm concerned. But that's another story.
Lately, my airport experiences have been unfavourable, to say the least. It's probably something to do with the fact that, now, I almost always expect the worst when I'm flying anywhere, but I think it's also something to do with the fact that airports are run by muppets. Complete and utter muppets.
It's funny (that's 'funny hysterical-verging-on-madness' rather than 'funny ha ha') because I'm not afraid of flying whatsoever. In my job, I know a little bit more about airplanes and how they work (and sometimes don't work) than the average person. I know what noises to listen out for during the flight, and how to tell if everything's going ok or if there might be a slight problem, etc. In this age of hyper-sensitivity regarding all things big and shiny and metal hurtling through the air at speeds upwards of 500mph, I'm quite comfortable with flying. It's definitely my preferred mode of transport, unless the alternative is a swanky BMW with a cooler full of beer. I love seeing the land spread out before me, marvelling at how tiny all the houses and fields are, watching the sun glinting off car windshields miles below, and then soaring above the cotton wool clouds, feeling as though the laws of physics and gravity do not apply. I love flying. It's the bits beforehand and afterwards that bother me.
Last week, I had to fly to Southampton for a couple of days work, and it was, without doubt, one of the worst trips I've ever been on. Things got off to a funky start in the taxi to Manchester airport. I hopped into the regulation Black Cab, and gave my destination to the driver. Before I could even sit down, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, throwing me backwards into my seat, and sped off towards the airport. At the first set of lights I was still adjusting myself, desperately trying to buckle my seatbelt and willing my heart rate to slow down, when the driver decided that some hardcore dance music was needed to liven up the trip, and turned the stereo up full blast. As both my eardrums simultaneously started to bleed, I tried to shout at the driver to please turn the music down, but, of course, he couldn't/wouldn't hear me, and so I had to endure "duf-duf-duf-duf" for the rest of the very long 20 minute journey.
We eventually got to the airport, and I practically fell out of the cab. My ears had that weird ringing/cotton wool sensation that makes you feel like you're really, really stoned. I wandered into the airport in a daze, and checked in for my flight. I have always found checking in for my flight in Manchester to be a doddle. I think they do it on purpose - make check-in as easy as physically possible in order to lull you into a false sense of security before you have to face the complete mindfuck that is running the security gauntlet before you can get to your gate.
The security area in Manchester airport must have been designed by an alcoholic with the DT's and not enough cash to buy chewing gum, let alone his next bottle of moonshine, and who wanted to inflict the same amount of pain and confusion on anyone able to afford to get this far in the airport. If you're travelling to anywhere in the UK, Channel Islands or Ireland, they have a separate 'fast channel' through which you can get your boarding card and passport checked and then you can go through to a separate X-ray machine, and basically you skip the huge queues of Mancs heading off to Torremolinos, or wherever. But, if the airport isn't particularly busy, then you all go through the same security machines. In theory, this is a good idea, and it usually works.
Anyhoo, so, I went off down this corridor, expecting to get through to the departure lounge fairly quickly, so I could get my caffeine fix smartish. I arrived at the end of the corridor only to find out that there was, unusually, a really long queue. This is because the muppet in charge of checking the passports, etc., was... well, he was being a muppet. He was pretty much going through everybody's passport, page-by-page, double checking the photographs, etc.
As an aside: I know 9/11 was an awful, awful event. I watched it live on TV. I saw the second plane hitting the WTC in real time, and it scared the shit out of me. I can't even begin to imagine how the people who were directly involved or who lost family members or friends must feel. But I have to say that airport security has gone to the point where it's ridiculous. And, what's worse is that it's not even consistent. One day, you might get strip searched even though you're only flying to Dublin. The next day, you could be flying to LA and they won't even glance at your luggage as it goes through the X-ray machine. That really annoys me.
Anyway, so there was this huge queue, and I looked over at the queue for the people flying to other destinations, and there were only about five people in it. So I thought what most normal people would think, which was "Why am I standing here waiting for Kermit the Frog to check my passport when I could get through security there in about 30 seconds?" We were all being directed to the same X-ray machines, so I didn't think it would be a problem. I went over to the other queue, waited behind the five people for my turn, got to the top of the queue and handed the lady my boarding card and passport. She looks at it and says "Oh no, you have to queue over there".
I said "But, that queue is really long, and we're all going through the same machines, so could you not just check my details here".
"No. You have to queue up over there."
"But I'm only going to Southampton. It's not like I'm flying to foreign places."
"No. Over there."
The woman had a head for slaps. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever for her to make me wait in the really long queue. There was no one behind me, so it's not like I was holding up other passengers. All she had to do was check my boarding card and passport, and she could have let me go through. But, because she's a bitch, and because it would require a small amount of thinking, she refused. I can't stand people who do this kind of thing. It reminds me of going into KFC or some other such fast food place once. I ordered a burger and fries. The girl asked me what drink I wanted. I told her I didn't want a drink. But... why not? She couldn't understand this. I said I don't like fizzy drinks, therefore I don't want one. But it only costs 1p more to get the drink. I don't care, I don't want a drink, I just want the burger and fries. At this point, the girl's head exploded. Moron. Life doesn't run according to the script! Get used to it! USE YOUR BRAIN!!!
*and breathe*
Anyhoo, so I queued for ages and Kermit eventually checked my details and let me through. Then the fun started. I put my bags through the X-ray machine, and then stepped through the metal detector. As per usual, the detector didn't beep because I had nothing metal in my pockets and, oh yeah, because I'm not a terrorist. But, every time I go through the metal detector in Manchester airport, they always call me over for a random search. I like to think it's because I'm so damn hot that the women can't wait to run their hands up and down my body, but in reality I know it's because I always look guilty and/or like I'm hiding something. I kid you not - every single time I go through security there, I get searched. Anyway, this 'lady' calls me over (I'm using quotes there because she was rough! I felt kind of dirty afterwards) and starts to feel me up. She spent a long time feeling my bra to check I didn't have a grenade or something hiding in there. She had me there for about two minutes and I swear I had bruises afterwards.
*shudder*
She eventually let me go, and I grabbed my bags and ran all the way to Starbucks for the precious rocket fuel, and finally began to relax. Then I remembered that my boss would be along soon, and I got all stressed out again. I swear I'm going to have a stomach ulcer before my contract is up in October.
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