(It is STRONGLY recommended by the author of this blog to read Part 1 before you read Part 2.)
When my eyes opened on that Saturday morning, I instantly
knew I was fucked. The display on my alarm clock showed an hour and a half past
my desired wake up time. My flight was scheduled for takeoff in just over three
hours from that moment. I lived 80 miles away from the airport, and I had very
little room for error if I was going to make my flight on time. I couldn’t miss
this flight, as the entire plan for the documentary relied on me actually being
in Albuquerque to interview Joel-Peter Witkin. I jolted out of bed and began to
get ready at a rapid pace, and that is when it hit me.
With the nervous energy coursing through my body, and the
turning of my stomach, I quickly ran to the toilet. I sat on the toilet with a
horrible case of explosive diarrhea, wasting precious time I didn’t have to
spare.
After my business was done, I showered and finished
getting ready at great haste. I originally planned and budgeted to use the
local service of the Park & Ride bus to get me to the airport. Taking the
bus is much cheaper due to the low cost of parking. However, the bus was no
longer an option for me. I know LAX like the back of my hand, and my flight was
on United Airlines, which is one of the last terminals as you drive through the
LAX complex. I couldn’t waste time with the thought of the bus having to stop
at every terminal. There was no longer a decision to be made, I had to drive
straight to the airport and bite the bullet on the expensive airport parking.
Just another expense I wasn’t planning on.
Driving at racecar speed, I maneuvered in and out of
traffic like a pro. I couldn’t have been more happy that it was Saturday and
traffic wouldn’t be as bad a weekday. A stroke of good luck hit me, as I was
fortunate enough to get a parking spot immediately after pulling into the lot,
and it was right up front. This saved me
some time. I made my way inside the airport and noticed the line for check-in
was gruesomely long. After standing in
line for over 45 minutes, I had less than a half an hour to get on the plane,
and I had yet to go through the security gate.
With plenty of practice under my belt, I have become an
expert at the TSA security check-points. I know the procedure, so I’m always ready.
I grabbed three plastic bins, threw off my shoes and put them in the first bin
along with my wallet and hat. The second bin was designated for my laptop,
camera, and hard drives. TSA is always quick to tell you to take those items
out of your bag. The third and final bin was for my backpack. I was “randomly
selected” for extra security. After going through the X-Ray scanners and being
patted down, I was able to grab my stuff and start walking towards my gate.
Halfway to my gate the thought occurred to me to make
sure I had my driver’s license. I started to feel through my pockets as I
walked. I came to a dead stop when I realized it was missing from my pockets. I
hurriedly began to rummage through my backpack, desperately fighting off the
urge to have a heart attack, as I couldn’t find it anywhere. There was only one
place it could be, and that was back at the security checkpoint.
My first stop was the security desk by the checkpoint to
see if anyone had turned it in. It wasn’t there. So I ran over to the end of the line where I
had gone through and saw the stack of empty bins piled up. I frantically
started lifting out the bins one by one and tossing them off to the side. After
I pulled out the 5th bin I noticed that I was now surrounded by a team of TSA
Agents. I pulled the 6th bin, nothing. As I reached for the 7th bin I heard a
voice behind me say “Everything okay, sir?” I pulled out the next bin, and
there it was staring right at me. I grinned ear to ear, grabbed it, held it up
in victory and exclaimed to the TSA Agent “I found it! Everything is just fine,
thanks.” I gathered the bins around me and started to restack them.
After the bins were back in proper order, I had to run to
my gate. The clock was counting down and I was cutting it close. I reached my
gate only to realize that it wasn’t a real gate. It was a ruse as the tarmac
led me outside to where a shuttle bus was sitting idle. This so-called bus was
going to provide me transport to another terminal, which was halfway around to
the other side of the airport, where the real gate for my flight was.
I sat in the bus alone for a good eight minutes. The
air-conditioning was not running, and I was roasting like a duck. Looking at my
watch my breaking point came. “Can we get this thing moving?” I shouted out to
the driver who was outside waiting. He got in the bus, shut the door and we
were on our way.
I reached my gate just as they were preparing to close
the door. As soon as I was on the plane the door closed behind me, and as the
stewardess began her announcement I was staring at a flight full of people
looking up at me as if they knew I was the reason why the flight is five
minutes behind schedule. A sigh of relief came as I sat down and the plane
started backing up.
- Thomas Marino
No comments:
Post a Comment