Running late again on my way from Sedona to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix, I turn in my Bat Mobile and catch the shuttle to Terminal 4. Right off the bat I'm flooded with the effects of Terrorism in this country. Bomb/drug dogs (thank god I don't have any pot, but that is also like, "duh") patrol each entrance of the terminal. Each baggage/ticket desk had its own luggage bomb screening device.
Baltimore had none of this. I immediately get to thinking, "Where in Gods name are they getting the money for this shit?" Ah yes, of course. The reduced NYC Homeland Security funding which was spread out amongst other smaller yet still nervous cities around America like Phoenix. I'm so glad that Phoenix has the most state of the art equipment and most highly trained and zealous TSA employees. That is surely benefiting this country. American West Airlines recently merged with US Airways, but they don't bother to tell passengers that you can check-in at either desk. I can see I'm not the only person confused about this. Inside the terminal are more bag screening devices. Man those things look expensive. I get to the ticket kiosk and after trying every which way of locating my reservation without success, I'm sent to a desk agent.
My flight leaves in one hour. The desk agent informs me that the Baltimore agent that routed me through Las Vegas has deleted my return reservation. I pull out my computer print-out to prove that I was actually booked on the flight. She informs me after furious typing that my flight, which I booked a first class ticket on originally, has been overbooked by 10 people. I immediately go into meltdown mode. I'm shouting and screaming because I want to get the hell out of this state. Screw America West. She calls over her supervisor, who calms me down. They offer me a one way first class voucher for future travel, and somehow guarantee me a seat on the plane that leaves in less than 30 minutes nearly a mile away through security. I had a lot of time to observe people while the agents figured out how to get me home. They're were people standing next to me that must have been from some Borough of New York City. They had arrived just under an hour before their plane took off, but the agent informed them that all checked bags must be checked at least an hour before departure. The alpha male of the traveling family lost it worse than I had. The ticket agent explained that the baggage policy was a Sky Harbor security policy. He went on ranting that they don't have this rule at Newark, JFK or LaGuardia. I chimed in and said there was no such thing at Baltimore either. "Do we look like terrorists?" the man shouted. His wife jabbed him in the rib cage "I can't answer that," the ticket woman said flatly. "Good luck getting on the plane now buddy," I thought to myself. My agent gave me a piece of paper and said that I should give this to the gate agent. I ran down the corridor, up the escalator, where I met a line of passengers. They were at least a quarter of a mile from the entrance to the security line.
I walked to the security point and waltzed through the first class line, which allowed me to make my flight. They didn't that I had been demoted from First to Coach. The piece of paper in my hand didn't indicate the class. I scanned the line, which wasn't moving, and quickly picked out 34 American flags on clothing. The line was being held up because whoever the TSA director for Sky Harbor Airport was, had decided that all of the passengers were to receive full searches. So different from the outbound flight from Baltimore. An elderly gentleman and a woman scrutinized the contents of my bag on the x-ray screen for at least 5 minutes. I look at my watch. 20 Minutes till departure. They decide that my bag needs a thorough hand search. The man finds a bottle of lotion and hair clay, which passed the Baltimore exam unnoticed. He lectures me about the newly enforced liquid restrictions like I've been living under a rock for the past 20 years. "I don't care, throw them out," I hurriedly say to him. He slowly repacks my bag and I take off in a sprint to what I thought was my gate. WRONG. My gate is a whole 3/10 of a mile away at least. I hear the final boarding call for my flight. I reach the gate and hand the agent my piece of paper. He glares at me and says, "Where did you get this?" I tell him that I got it downstairs and he says, "Fuck." He yells to the woman collecting tickets who comes over to refute my piece of paper. They are both overweight and in the midst of some sort of patriotic pin competition. Maybe they're married. I learn that they have sent another agent onto the plane to pull a passenger off so that I can have his seat. I have to wonder if they did this intentionally or not: The man they pulled off the plane was dressed typical Islamic Cleric garb. I mean he looked like Bin-Laden. I thought back to the local Sedona bar, but quickly turned my attention to the thought that he might have left something deadly on the plane. How would we know until it was too late? The flight was bumpy and cramped, but it landed in Baltimore. I was happy to be back to the East Coast.
No comments:
Post a Comment