Airport madness

What I’m going to tell you about has been the highlight of our flight to Romania this December. And the whole thing has been so ridiculous and far-fetched that I think D&I would have remembered it for a long time even if I hadn’t decided to immortalize the moment by blogging about it.

We chose British Airways to take us from Montreal to Bucharest via London Heathrow, one of the airports I love for its calmness and panoply of things to do [read: buy] while you’re waiting in the terminal.

What I hate about London Heathrow though is that when you’re coming from America [having already been through a security check] and going to Europe, the British make you go through another security check, just because that’s what their royal asses arses want. I mean come on, people! we’ve just gotten off an airplane. Where would we get the C4 or the TNT from? Or are you afraid we might blow up the terminal with a bomb made of pretzels, orange juice and bad sandwiches? This facade paranoia is turning me into a nervous wreck whenever I set foot in an airport. Anyway, moving on…

It’s 5 am London time, and we’ve just gotten off the plane from Montreal. We passed through customs and after passport control we arrive in this area where you’re supposed to queue before going through security check on British soil. While you’re queuing you notice every 10 meters or so there’s an airport employee saying yelling “No mascaras, moisturizers, lip glosses or lotions. All liquids must go in a plastic bag.” At this point I’m thinking “They must take us for retards. We GET IT! No need to shout it every 2 seconds!”

Then we come across a dudette who’s making it all look more and more like a Nazi camp. “You don’t need your passport, only your boarding pass. Have only your boarding pass in your hand! Put your passports away!”. OH-MY-GOD! Talk about an obnoxious bi-atch! It’s my passport. MY passport. I can hold it on my head and dance the hokey-pokey and it still wouldn’t be any of your business.

Right in front of us there’s this older dude who I think was French and couldn’t understand or wasn’t paying attention to what the Nazi lady was saying because I remember seeing him holding his passport in his hand. IN HIS HAND!!! And I was thinking “Oh, dude, you’re sooo busted now!”. So when the lady from hell sees him with his passport IN HIS HAND she goes ballistic “Sir, you don’t need your passport. Put it away. Sir, put your passport away. Put it away!”.

Then she whispered in her walkie-talkie “We’ve got a 9-0-2. Passport in hand. I repeat passport in hand. Swarm! Swarm! Swarm!”. And then the special forces come in and knock the poor guy to the ground. Just like in Seinfeld when George tries to steal a book and he gets caught.

No, this last part didn’t happen. She did however make the poor guy feel very uncomfortable, confused and perhaps a bit scared.

We had our fair share of laughs about this though and whenever D saw me with my passport in my hand he said “No, put it away. Put that away. You don’t need that. Put that away!”

Sadly the dictator-ess wasn’t there when we flew back to Canada. But she will always be with us in spirit.

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