Airport StoriesBack when I was a moody teenager I took a cheap flight that involved changing planes and having to go through security again. My bags were pre-checked so, when I set off the metal detector, I honestly said to the security guy that I had no idea what had set it off.
Until, that is, he searched me and found the metal knife and fork stamped "KLM" I'd nicked off the previous flight.
Tell us your best airport stories.
(
chthonic, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 10:09)
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Oh, a few...Its not often I go on a plane, but the times I have have led to some unforgettable memories.
First trip to Australia,2001. Heathrow-Dubai-Singapore-Melbourne, visiting family. Me and mum have seats right at the very fucking back of the plane, and end up speaking to the air wenches for much of the flight. Get off at Melbourne with two straining carrier bags full of the mini white wine bottles they serve in first class. Score.
Return trip. During the course of the holiday mum's picked up a didgeridoo. Not a small touristy thing, oh no. Six foot black torpedo of wood, and I had to carry the fucking thing round the airport, its getting on for the better part of a stone in weight which on your average 11 year olds shoulder with a needle thin strap is annoying as buggery. Get to the check-in desk.
Check in fool: Im sorry, but that didge needs to go in the cargo.
Me: Really? Whys that?
CiF: It can be used as a hand weapon. You could try and attack people with it.
Me, after looking at him to check hes not joking: Its six foot long, weighs a ton. Im a weak little bugger. Theres no way I could try and swing it in that flying coffin.
CiF: Rules is rules,mate.
The thing went in the hold. WE get home and we find its got a crack for fully halfway along its length.
Second trip to australia, 2005. The brother tags along with me and mum this time. In Dubai we've got a fairly long wait. Mums vanished looking at the big gold counter they've got there. Alex and I spot one of those baggage carts they use for ferrying invalids around with, recently vacated with the keys hanging from the ignition. We share a significant look.
'Lex: How long before they'd catch us?
Me: I dunno. I'd quite like to keep my hands, though.
'Lex: Good point. Well saved, there.
The journey home was quite savage. We got to Dubai, and at that point I hadnt had a shit for about three days. I head straight for the gents to try and put king kong to shame, but theres a queue that stretches nearly completely around the lavs. When I eventually get a cubicle, its one of those things where you have to squat down and shit over the hole. After about ten minutes of straining, nothings happening, and I'm nearly overbalancing on these fucking little platforms. I resolve to wait till I'm on the plane.
Two hours later, I bolt the lav door and sit down, and try again. Five minutes of near-blood-vessel-bursting strain, I finally manage to get this mammoth turd out with a thud that shakes the seat. And other people,apparently. I walked out of the lav to see a hostess trying desperately not to laugh.
Her: Are you alright, sir?
Me: Yeah. Remember, a split ring is not just a car part.
FIRST POST WOOPWOOPWOOP!
Apologies for length and girth, but bloody hell, I didnt half feel good after I got rid of it.
(, Wed 8 Mar 2006, 12:55, Reply)
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