Seens At The Airport

Once again I found myself on an undercover assignment at the airport. I don't travel that often but each time I go there for a job I have to go through security. So, I am beginning to learn the tricks of the trade. At the Atlanta airport there are now different security gates for different kinds of travellers. Of course, they have a line for the business traveller--folks that are flying out weekly. These passengers don't even look up from their newspaper when they pass through security. Off with the belts, jackets and shoes. Laptops and briefcases in the gray plastic bins. Smile at the officer as you get puffed by the new screening machine and you're on your way. Another line is one that is for those that need special assistance. Maybe, you are an elderly person or perhaps, physically challenged. You could be a mom travelling with three screaming children (I hope you're not sitting by me). Anyone basically that might need some kind of assistance. The next lane that I noticed open was one that read novice/casual traveller. Personally, I thought that line was pretty self-explanatory. Or, so I thought. I was walking past a couple probably in their mid 40s deep in conversation with a TA agent. It seems they were confused about which line to get into. They wanted to know if there was an "expert" line to join. It seems that they had flown to Vegas once so this wasn't their first time flying. I laughed at that until I was blue in the face.

Twice As Nice

I had to go back to the airport on consecutive days recently for a couple of undercover assignments. I can’t tell what I do or who I work for but rest assured the MA Fat Woman is there watching you when you least expect it. Anyhow, going through security at the airport these days is a snap if you know what you’re doing. I don’t understand the people that try to keep their shoes on. Do they have foot odor? Are they embarrassed by their ugly toes? Bunions? Webbed Feet? What about six toes? How about only four toes? I had made it through the first checkpoint where they highlight your boarding pass and look at your photo id and was standing in line to go through the metal detectors when the lady in line behind me asked where I was headed. I couldn’t believe it; somebody spoke to me, I was shocked. I turned around and gave her the up down look trying to ascertain what she meant. She looked normal. She wasn’t green and didn’t have a horn growing out of her head. I told her I wasn’t going anywhere and that I was undercover and on official business. Well, wouldn’t you know it, but she then gave me the up down look trying to see if I was normal or not. There was a gentleman a little of me in line that had a laptop, a book bag, a briefcase, a man bag and was wearing three layers of jackets. Off everything went and into six plastic bins. During this process his boarding pass fell out and onto the floor and he didn’t realize it. Nobody moved or said anything until I picked it up and handed it back to him. I had moved past one guy and apologized for jumping line. He told me that was an awfully nice thing that I had done. The lady behind me was really giving me the eye now. I’m sure she thought I was really something other than I actually was but she said the same thing too. She then added something else: “Are you sure you work at the airport? You seem too nice.”

A Trip To The Airport

I was very excited that I got to make a trip to the airport the other day. I don’t live near one of those smaller type airports that lets you park right beside the front door. You wave at the security guard standing outside because their child rides to soccer practice every Wednesday with your youngest child; you know each other. You walk into the terminal and it takes you fifteen minutes to reach the ticket counter because you’ve run into about half of the people that you graduated with. The security guard outside the metal detectors gives you a high five and asks how your folks are doing. I think you get the picture. My airport is nothing like that. My airport is bigger than your town. There are six concourses and they are 300M apart according to the posted signs. If you are feeling energetic you might want to walk to your destination. I had to go to the farthest concourse which according to the posted signs was over a mile away. If you add in the half mile walk from the economy parking garage and the walk through the terminal it all adds up to quite a distance. I was taking the train. Or, maybe not. I was getting ready to board the train that had just dropped off a bunch of passengers when an announcement came over the loudspeaker that the train was having technical difficulties; it was going to take at least thirty minutes to fix the problem. Suddenly, there was a loud groan and several muffled curse words as the entire hoard of passengers made a left face and started walking towards the next concourse. It was like the parting of the Red Sea; individuals who were walking towards the baggage claim area were quickly swallowed up by this mass of humanity snaking its way through the underbelly of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. I had somewhere to be, so, after a slight hesitation I started walking too. I fell into step along side an elderly woman who I thought I might be able to keep pace with. She looked over at me and asked where I was headed. I told her I was going to Concourse E and she said me too. Every thing was going smoothly until I saw her glance down at her watch. I heard her mumbling to herself and then she looked over at me and this is what she said. “According to the sign it’s going to be over a mile by the time we get there. I walk a 12 minute mile every morning; this should be a piece of cake. Let’s go!! Uhh, I think I need to use the ladies room, don’t wait on me; I’ll catch up to you.