Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Baggage claim cock block

Are you way more important than everyone else?
Is your luggage made of solid gold?
Are you smuggling someone across the border in a steamer trunk without air holes?
Did your water just break?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, fine. You suck dead bear but I’ll give you a pass at the baggage claim carousel. If you answered “no,” you must need me to fly my fist in a northerly direction toward your face.

Lemme tell you why.

When a flight lands, I try to hightail it out of the airport. Sometimes I'm forced to check a bag, so I haul ass from my arrival gate, only to find myself jockeying for position around the baggage carousel while I wait for my Samsonite to tumble down the conveyor belt. You’d think I’d be so flippin' happy to be off my flight and out of its Lilliputian seats that I’d just be content to feel my limbs again. Uh, no.

The flightmare continues, as I elbow my way through chuckleheads in pleated khakis or gamey business suits with phones clipped to their belts, parents who are wrangling several unruly kids hopped up on M&Ms, and reunited couples engaged in serious tonsil hockey. What do these penis pumps have in common? They are in my way and irking my shit. Who the fuck knows if my bag made it to my destination, since I can’t see the conveyor belt, let alone get to it. Asshats of every kind queue up against the carousel, forming a Hands Across American Airlines bond that I can’t break through. When a waste of space scores a bag, he doesn’t remove it from the fray. No, he usually sets it beside himself to create an additional hurdle for me to trip over/kick the shit out of when I finally spy my bag amidst the golf clubs, checked car seats, and floral tapestry suitcases littering the conveyor belt.

Then there are the families.

Just a suggestion, but maybe you could have a family meeting over by the Smart Cartes and designate ONE parent to retrieve your bags. Again, it’s just a thought and if you’d just rather stick together in a line like the von Trapp Family Singers, so be it. Just be aware that I’m going to use my carry-on bag and my laptop case to box your ears like a monkey rocking the cymbals. Find your roller bag now, bitch. I don't think that red ribbon you tied onto the handle is gonna help you.

(Photo: bridgeandtunnelclub.com)

10 comments:

Anonymous said...

You can't harsh the Von Trapps! They don't fly, they push father's motorcar all the way to Switzerland!

Robynne Raye said...

This is fucking spot on! I think all manners go out the door once people set foot inside an airport. I've noticed this behavior even crosses all cultures.

Anonymous said...

I hate the people that can't spot there bag even when it has 47 multicolored ribbons.

Softflexgirl said...

Very good synopsis of airport hell. I think we have all been here before. :)

caroline said...

Nice! You were on fire when you wrote this! Will you do one on brand-new pump bottles whose pumps won't pop? I HATE those.

CarlaCarlaCarlaCarla said...

solid gold luggage ... flightmare ... Hands Across American Airlines ... fly my fist in a northerly direction

Nice!

Did you break it to caroline yet that tops-that-won't-pop are due to Operator Error?

Chris said...

okay.
i'm laffing too hard to even read this whole thing.

Be one with the Fro said...

OMG!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA You are the best! If your book is like this, then you got a buyer in me!

Whit said...

I heart you.

Bethany said...

Haha, this reminds me of when I went off on this guy who stepped right in front of me while I was waiting politely about 6 feet back from the baggage claim. He just parked his fat butt right in the last tiny space where I would be able to see my bag. So I went off on him like a total beyotch. In my defense - not that I need to defend my ire - I had just gotten off of a non-stop flight from Tokyo to Seattle.