I always get to the airport early. In pre-security days, I've arrived so late that the ticket counter had to call the gate to tell them to hold the plane as I raced through the airport. But now I'm always way early. I think it has to do with the fact that I do NOT like to fly (more in a bit).
I think I was regularly made at the mall. I saw people glance and look away. So either they figured me out, or they were confused, or I looked REALLY hot. I'm going to be positive, give myself the benefit of the doubt, and say they were confused. :)
I'd love to get someone to take my picture but I'm not confident enough to ask someone to do that. I can just hope if I'm taking pictures (with my cel phone ~ I left my camera at home this trip) someone will say "would you like me to take your picture?" Or someone would say to themselves "I think that's a guy" and take my picture ~ if anyone did that, I'd ask if they could take a picture with MY camera too. I was ready to do that. I think they'd be too flustered to not do it. Not surprisingly, it didn't happen. I just passed too well, and no-one wants to take a picture of a 50 year old woman at the airport. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. :)
I've been taking written notes here. There are some outlets but they are crowds around them. I don't know how long my computer battery will last, or I'd tether and do a live update. I tried to take a picture of myself but y'all know how badly that turns out. Stupid me, I should have brought my netbook. It has a built-in camera and I could have uploaded video from the airport! Stupid stupid stupid. I was trying to travel a bit lighter so I'd feel comfortable! This was a bad trade-off. Next time! (Am I really thinking about doing this again?)
Dulles has changed, again. I had to take a little train (new) to the terminal. There was a bit of a walk from about A10 to A1 where my plane was to depart. The terminal goes over an airport road or something, and the geniuses who designed this stopped the terminal at A7. Then you have to go up two escalators and across a section that goes over the road, then down two escalators to gates A1 to A6. I did this and checked out the gate area. I have plenty of time. I could've spent some more time shopping and still been my usual early self.
It's about 1:40 and the plane doesn't leave until 3:34. I'm a bit hot and a bit sweaty, but I'm feeling great and have NO regrets. I'd love to find a decent mirror or some reflective wall or SOMETHING so I can make sure I'm looking OK but there don't seem to be any and I never was any good at those little compact mirrors. There is a family restroom in this terminal, and maybe I'll sneak a peek.
It's time to take a walk. I usually take a walk when I'm at the airport, look at the shops, and people watch a bit. I wasn't sure about getting something to eat or drink. I wasn't very hungry and I didn't want to force a visit to the ladies' room. Although I did see that family restroom.... I did think about maybe getting a fashion magazine (I only look at the pictures). So I walked.
This terminal is large. I think the last gate was B79. It turns out that there are many groups of restrooms. Every second group has a family restroom. There's also a Dunkin' Donuts and I can NOT resist their coffee. I got the caffeine kick and the second kick from seeing lipstick on the rim of the cup. I walked with the cup for a bit, then sat and sipped and people watched. Most people ignored me. One woman at the next table who was having trouble managing a young child looked at me and smiled, a "you've probably been here" smile. I nodded and grinned. It's always good to be part of the sisterhood, even if it's only for a moment.
On the way back I did duck into a family restroom (some gurls have called me brave. No, I'm still chicken) to dispose of the coffee and touch up my lipstick. As I pass over that bridge at A7 again I notice the sky doesn't look good. I'm hoping for no weather delay, but I also don't want to fly in bad weather. I'm a bad flier in any circumstance. I'm not a white-knuckle flier. I worked with a woman who smoked occasionally but chain-smoked when on a plane. When they forbid smoking on flights she took up drinking. I am not making this up. I'm not that bad, but I Don't Like Flying. I'm very glad I like dressing. It sort of balanced it all out. :)
For the record, I don't like heights either. However, I am OK with widths.
By the time I got back to the gate it was 2:50. I said it was a big terminal! My shoes are comfy, and I just feel... right. I just feel normal and right.
I think that's enough for today. More airport tomorrow and I'll see how far I get.
Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Part Four ~ Meg Does Dulles
Oh, do I wish I had chosen the name Debbie instead of Meg, just for this one post title! I guess I'm not as forward-thinking as I'd like to believe.
There was a bit of a line at the United counter. I could have used their "express" check-in but I never trust things like that. If they can lose luggage that someone is physically handling, I can't imagine where my luggage would end up if it just went into a dark tunnel with the assumption that someone's going to match it with my name. So I waited on line, both ignoring and being ignored by the other line waiters. The man behind the counter didn't ma'am me, and I told him I had one bag. This is one of the counters where you take the bag to the luggage mangling machine yourself. I left my bag there and asked which was the way to the gates. He seemed irritated, which I'll attribute to him doing the same boring job all day long. I can't imagine it had anything to do with his reaction to me. Well, maybe. Nah. Boring job, fight with his wife, something like that.
From there I went on to security, where you have to show your id and ticket forty-nine times. Forty-six people must have been on holiday or called in sick, because I only encountered three of thoseannoying people gentlemen doing their job to make the skies safe.
The first looked down at my license and up at me and said "is this your ID?" I smiled and said "that's me." He looked down, he squinted, he held it up and looked at me. I was wondering if I should say something, and if so, what I should say, when he convinced himself that either the ugly duck on the license had grown into a beautiful swan, or he was looking at the absolute worst driver's license photo in the history of the world.
I noticed that the second guy looked at the ID of a couple of people in front of me, but he gave me a big grin and an expansive gesture as he waved me past. I've thought about that a lot and I have NO idea what it was about. Maybe he only spot checked. NO idea.
Right before x-ray was my final test (nothing to do with how much an African swallow can carry). I handed the Final Man With Latex Gloves my ID and ticket. He looked and asked "wrong person?" and I said "no, that's me" and he handed them back and pointed towards a security line that was actually closed, but re-opening momentarily. I guess I'm passing.
The metal detector was in the middle with x-ray machines on either side. I put my laptop, laptop case, two cel phones, purse, and shoes on the belt to the left. I waited as the man in front walked through the detector, then it was my turn. I thought I knew what was coming.
BEEEEEEEEP
I was right.
"Please remove your watch and bracelet." I did. They went into a little tray that looks like a bedpan on the right-side belt.
I knew that that wasn't it.
BEEEEEEEEP
"Do you have any metal in your clothing?" asked the man waiting on the other side of the detector.
"I have metal stays under my clothes."
"I don't know what that is." He didn't ask, and I didn't explain.
So he had me step into a little plexiglass room right behind him and he called over someone to hand-scan me.
This was a new experience for me, and not just as Meg. I wasn't sure what to expect. I'm sure I was read because I had to talk. But I didn't hear him specify who should come over ~ he just made a generic call for someone (I forget the title he used). This, I thought, could be interesting.
A Hispanic woman, about 35 and 5 feet tall and a bit on the stocky side came over. Let me say that I have a problem with faces. I will introduce myself to people I've met a half-dozen times. I once saw a woman I worked with on a project for a year outside of work. We started talking and she suddenly said "you don't know where you know me from." I guessed. I guessed wrong. The reason I remember this woman is, we grew kinda intimate over the next five or ten minutes. :)
I'd say she was of average looks, but I find average Latinas attractive. I mention this for the end of this little story.
She did collect my shoes and computer and things from the left side, and I pointed to the little bedpan that someone on the other side was holding up as he either looked for an owner or a bidder. I'm not sure he cared which.
She had a script and knew it well. She kept saying the same things as she did similar things, but I knew she was thrown off her guard from the start. My guess is, from a distance she looked and thought "woman. I'm on ." When she came up to me she said that she was going to use a hand scanner to look for metal and would I rather do it here or in private?" I said "here is fine."
That wasn't the answer she was hoping for.
She looked unhappy, swallowed, and paused for a long time. I think her script didn't allow her to say "well, I'm not comfortable doing this here. We're going into a private room." The question was for my comfort, and, really, I was fine.
She explained that she was going to examine my hair (I didn't volunteer to remove it and put it through x-ray. That would have made me uncomfortable). She didn't muss it or push it out of place, fortunately. Every move she made, she explained, even if it was the fourth time she was doing it. At one point I said "yes I know. You HAVE to say that, don't you?" She went on as if I was mute or she was deaf.
She said "I will use the back of my thumbs when I have to touch sensitive areas, such as your breasts". I am certain she is the first person to ever mention my breasts, live and in person.
She asked if I was wearing any metal and I said that the stays in my shaper were probably the problem. She eventually confirmed that, touching the spots where the wand buzzzzzed. I told her there was a row of hook-and-eyes up the front and that was definitely a problem. The wand did confirm that I had metal stays in the cinch anyway. I thought maybe they were plastic.
As I was getting my stuff together a man walked over to me and said "what do I have to do to get her to do that?" I said "Come to the airport dressed like a woman. Wear a corset. This is why I do it."
No I didn't. I just grabbed his shirt and gave him a big kiss right on the lips.
No I didn't do that either. I gave him a big smile ~ he didn't stick around to hear an answer anyway. But I was smiling for myself too. Maybe I wasn't fooling all of the people all of the time, but to the security guys, to the woman who scanned me, to the guy who made the comment, I was Meg.
And to me I was Meg. And I was having the time of my life.
[ a little postscript: everything in this blog is as it happened. I'm not embellishing things, I'm not making things up. I took copious notes in the airport, on the plane, when I got to my room. I do try to make my audience laugh. I know I'm no Dave Barry. But maybe I'm a Gene Weingarten (local reference). ]
There was a bit of a line at the United counter. I could have used their "express" check-in but I never trust things like that. If they can lose luggage that someone is physically handling, I can't imagine where my luggage would end up if it just went into a dark tunnel with the assumption that someone's going to match it with my name. So I waited on line, both ignoring and being ignored by the other line waiters. The man behind the counter didn't ma'am me, and I told him I had one bag. This is one of the counters where you take the bag to the luggage mangling machine yourself. I left my bag there and asked which was the way to the gates. He seemed irritated, which I'll attribute to him doing the same boring job all day long. I can't imagine it had anything to do with his reaction to me. Well, maybe. Nah. Boring job, fight with his wife, something like that.
From there I went on to security, where you have to show your id and ticket forty-nine times. Forty-six people must have been on holiday or called in sick, because I only encountered three of those
The first looked down at my license and up at me and said "is this your ID?" I smiled and said "that's me." He looked down, he squinted, he held it up and looked at me. I was wondering if I should say something, and if so, what I should say, when he convinced himself that either the ugly duck on the license had grown into a beautiful swan, or he was looking at the absolute worst driver's license photo in the history of the world.
I noticed that the second guy looked at the ID of a couple of people in front of me, but he gave me a big grin and an expansive gesture as he waved me past. I've thought about that a lot and I have NO idea what it was about. Maybe he only spot checked. NO idea.
Right before x-ray was my final test (nothing to do with how much an African swallow can carry). I handed the Final Man With Latex Gloves my ID and ticket. He looked and asked "wrong person?" and I said "no, that's me" and he handed them back and pointed towards a security line that was actually closed, but re-opening momentarily. I guess I'm passing.
The metal detector was in the middle with x-ray machines on either side. I put my laptop, laptop case, two cel phones, purse, and shoes on the belt to the left. I waited as the man in front walked through the detector, then it was my turn. I thought I knew what was coming.
BEEEEEEEEP
I was right.
"Please remove your watch and bracelet." I did. They went into a little tray that looks like a bedpan on the right-side belt.
I knew that that wasn't it.
BEEEEEEEEP
"Do you have any metal in your clothing?" asked the man waiting on the other side of the detector.
"I have metal stays under my clothes."
"I don't know what that is." He didn't ask, and I didn't explain.
So he had me step into a little plexiglass room right behind him and he called over someone to hand-scan me.
This was a new experience for me, and not just as Meg. I wasn't sure what to expect. I'm sure I was read because I had to talk. But I didn't hear him specify who should come over ~ he just made a generic call for someone (I forget the title he used). This, I thought, could be interesting.
A Hispanic woman, about 35 and 5 feet tall and a bit on the stocky side came over. Let me say that I have a problem with faces. I will introduce myself to people I've met a half-dozen times. I once saw a woman I worked with on a project for a year outside of work. We started talking and she suddenly said "you don't know where you know me from." I guessed. I guessed wrong. The reason I remember this woman is, we grew kinda intimate over the next five or ten minutes. :)
I'd say she was of average looks, but I find average Latinas attractive. I mention this for the end of this little story.
She did collect my shoes and computer and things from the left side, and I pointed to the little bedpan that someone on the other side was holding up as he either looked for an owner or a bidder. I'm not sure he cared which.
She had a script and knew it well. She kept saying the same things as she did similar things, but I knew she was thrown off her guard from the start. My guess is, from a distance she looked and thought "woman. I'm on ." When she came up to me she said that she was going to use a hand scanner to look for metal and would I rather do it here or in private?" I said "here is fine."
That wasn't the answer she was hoping for.
She looked unhappy, swallowed, and paused for a long time. I think her script didn't allow her to say "well, I'm not comfortable doing this here. We're going into a private room." The question was for my comfort, and, really, I was fine.
She explained that she was going to examine my hair (I didn't volunteer to remove it and put it through x-ray. That would have made me uncomfortable). She didn't muss it or push it out of place, fortunately. Every move she made, she explained, even if it was the fourth time she was doing it. At one point I said "yes I know. You HAVE to say that, don't you?" She went on as if I was mute or she was deaf.
She said "I will use the back of my thumbs when I have to touch sensitive areas, such as your breasts". I am certain she is the first person to ever mention my breasts, live and in person.
She asked if I was wearing any metal and I said that the stays in my shaper were probably the problem. She eventually confirmed that, touching the spots where the wand buzzzzzed. I told her there was a row of hook-and-eyes up the front and that was definitely a problem. The wand did confirm that I had metal stays in the cinch anyway. I thought maybe they were plastic.
As I was getting my stuff together a man walked over to me and said "what do I have to do to get her to do that?" I said "Come to the airport dressed like a woman. Wear a corset. This is why I do it."
No I didn't. I just grabbed his shirt and gave him a big kiss right on the lips.
No I didn't do that either. I gave him a big smile ~ he didn't stick around to hear an answer anyway. But I was smiling for myself too. Maybe I wasn't fooling all of the people all of the time, but to the security guys, to the woman who scanned me, to the guy who made the comment, I was Meg.
And to me I was Meg. And I was having the time of my life.
[ a little postscript: everything in this blog is as it happened. I'm not embellishing things, I'm not making things up. I took copious notes in the airport, on the plane, when I got to my room. I do try to make my audience laugh. I know I'm no Dave Barry. But maybe I'm a Gene Weingarten (local reference). ]
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