Mr Nice
I was only 5 people away from the customs desk in LAX when I realised I had a Cooks Matchbox full of Fijian weed in my pocket. There were sniffer dogs and everything. 18 years old, and I was going to be put to death!

I jumped the queue and went up to the customs woman and said "excuse me, I need to declare my tent".
"You need to do what, Sir?"
"I need to declare my tent. The pegs have got soil on them".
"Right...."
"Yes, they have soil which might be contaminated, mightn't it? I'd better give you my tent".
"No that's fine Sir, please keep your tent".
"Right ho, I'll just give you my bags then and you can have a good old look through them".
"No that's fine, Sir, please go through, Have a nice day".

And I SWEAR that as I walked past, one of the sniffer dogs grinned and winked at me.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:33, Reply)

Whilst waiting for our flight to Spain
my Dad decided to visit one of the stores, dragging me along with him. After ages of browsing (my Dad takes his sweet time), he suddenly whips round brandishing a deoderant, while saying "How does this smell to you?", and then he sprayed it. Right in my fucking eyes.

I spent most of the flight blind as to what the hell was going on, and whenever I complained to my Mum or sister that my eyes stung, they simply laughed at me.

My family are cunts.
( Lightguy hail satan, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:30, Reply)

Kemble Airport
I've pissed off the wing of a 747 on the tarmac of an Airfield.

Spent a weekend learning how to assault a 747 hostage rescue stylee.

It's mostly handles freight and private aircraft and it was most amusing watching the looks on the pilots faces as they taxi past a load of heavily armed blokes scampering around/over/through a giant aircraft.

I would also not recommend being the 'step man'. It does not do wonders for the back. Anyway have a photo:



You can just see my head coming up over the wing in the bottom left.
(mehmeh 0% witty, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:30, Reply)

Sri Lanka
Back in the mid-90's when I was still legally forced to live with my parents, my dad decided that he was going to book a family Holiday to Sri Lanka.

Now i'm not saying it was a bad holiday, in fact it was my most spectacular holiday so far (not many 14 year olds can say that they travelled two hundred miles on a train with their dad and 500 other school kids playing hide and seek on the way to see a giant gold Budda) but as many may know, Sri Lanka is still at civil war to a degree and we just happened to return to Colombo airport when two planes were shot at with grenade luanchers.

Not only were we stuck in the airport for what seemed like forever but the occasional gunfire from the gun emplacements around the terminal didn't help.

Exciting tho :)
( Spam Filter Formerly known as Superdude, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:28, Reply)

hmmm
i work at an airport, and have no real stories. any that i do have involve being employed there, such as the time a collegue of mine nearly walked in to a propeller...spinning at ground idle (a few hundred rpm), myself falling out of a rear service entrance (that hurt), and our fleet of aircraft that are currently grounded because the controls freeze in flight.

My only experience in an airport as a passenger was my travel companion suffering food poisoning at the airport, and on the 12 hour flight that followed.
( Johno says the chances of anything coming from mars are a million to one But still they come on, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:17, Reply)

Irish Customs
I flew from Luton to Galway for a conference last year. Didn't see much of Galway airport on the way in because it was dark and I just wanted to get to the hotel. I can honestly say though that if I did go through customs in order to get there I sure didn't notice.

Fast forward to the trip home. Galway airport is basically a building slightly larger than a portacabin. They have a bar, a check-in desk and a departure lounge and that's it. Before the departure lounge I was subjected to the most rigourous customs check I've ever experienced (no, not quite to the removal of clothes level but almost) which seemed to take ages as they emptied my bag, pockets, scanned my laptop, hand-checked my person, etc. The plane was a bit delayed so I went into the departure lounge and proceeded to the toilet. The toilet was actually rather nice and it had a nice big window through which I could see the taxi rank on the street outside.

Maybe it's just the way my mind works, but if I ever need to smuggle anything out of Ireland...
(Ash Oops, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:10, Reply)

You can't make jokes in airports
As a lot of these stories show, you simply can't make jokes with airport security staff.

So how come last year as I'm showing passport control my papers he glances up, stares at me hard enough to make me really worry and then gestures at the book I'm carrying before saying "The butler did it."

It's not fair.
( chthonic, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:09, Reply)

"Falla whalla walla falla walla!"
Not too long ago I was at Treviso Airport in Italy, haveing spent a lovely couple of days in Venice and Treviso itself. Treviso airport is little more than a shack, so the check-in procedure isn't that stringent. We waited around for about an hour until boarding and we started walking down the ramp to the plane.

Suddenly this heavily armed security guard put his hand out and moved me to a table. He started speaking gibberish at me (being English I don't believe in 'other languages') and gesturing with his supercharged-AK-47-on-acid.

Not having a clue what he was blithering on about I looked at him blankly and shrugged. This, for some reason, got him very angry.

He grabbed my bag and shook it and made an open-book gesture (I remembered this from my semi-pro charades career). So I opened it up and started producing bottle after bottle of Prosecco, all neatly wrapped up in items of clothing, to keep them from smashing.

I was terrified that I'd be arrested for being a smuggler or something, but he seemed nonplussed. He simply said FANKO and let me put everything back. Then he gestured to the plane - which was, by now, fully boarded and waiting for me - and grinned this foul yellow grin at me.

Bastard.
( mrlogic is copying your beard, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:07, Reply)

My father-in-law last week
was flying back from Canada. He'd been out in the mountains with his wife, but she was staying on for another week at a conference. So she didn't need the various bike lights they'd taken with them to use as torches whilst out in the wilderness.

Now shoes often get crushed in your bag - I usually pad them out with socks, but he was quite pleased to find that the bike lights were a perfect fit...

... Vancouver airport security were less pleased after their scanner showed he was carrying a pair of shoes stuffed full of wires and batteries.
( chthonic, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:06, Reply)

Replacing the Safety Cards
Haha, yeah I once... oh wait, that was Fight Club.
(Minty Hit, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:01, Reply)

Similar to GrandMasterFluffles
As a flutist, travelling can be rather annoying. Not because the instrument is outsize and expensive, but because, when sitting in its case in three different section, it can look rather dodgy in the xray.

"What's that in your case, maam?"
"A flute".
*opens case, obviously expecting to find bits of "flute" that screw together to make a gun, a la "Man with the Golden Gun"*

This happens A LOT. I work as a singer now, it's just easier.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 14:00, Reply)

This Isn't the Terrorist you are looking for...
My Father and myself have the same first and last names.. Fair enough.. However, this is also obviously the name of someone who's on the FBI/CIA/MOD blacklist for being 'wanted'. This leads to much hilarity (or not) when going anywhere via plane.
We obviously get flagged up and, both times we have travelled to Florida (and my dad goes to the US more often), I get frisked.
So far, in the last 4 plane journeys (Floria x2, Corfu and internal flight to Edinburgh), i have been frisked a whopping 16 times! (going out, coming in, going out, coming in for each journey)
Ok, I'm 20, have long hair, wear baggy trousers etc... But do I obviously look like THAT much of a threat?
Fucksocks.

Length? Girth? They should know.. Its more than once someone's copped a feel (accidental or otherwise) while frisking!
(Black_Dwarf frawD_kcalB, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:59, Reply)

When returning from a holiday in florida one time,
I was asked by security if I had packed my own bag. I answered, in all innocence, "No, my wife packed it for me". My wife was standing right next to me at this point.

The security guard just scowled at me and said "I'll ask you again: did you pack this bag yourself?"

To which I replied "Why yes, of course I did."

He then smiled and let me board...

So it would seem that as as long as you give the answer they want, it doesn't matter if you lie or even that they know you are lieing...
( jonas is not my name, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:49, Reply)

Papeete Airport
Many moons ago, on a RTW trip with the GF at the time we boarded a plane in idyllic Rarotonga bound for Tahiti. The flight left late at night and we had checked out of our lodgings that morning so the day was basically spent horsing the local beer.

We were flying Air New Zealand, who were particularly solicitous of our welfare - to the extent that after the third or fourth request for double whiskies, the charming "hostie" responded by coming up the aisle with a full bottle and wearily telling us to "just keep it and don't make too much noise".

Arrived at Papeete Airport at 4.00am plastered and got in the queue to go through customs. It looked like we'd be OK as we were soon at the front and when we were called I stepped forward with my best shit-eating grin on. Unfortunately while I was still compus mentis enough to make eye contact and smile at the guy as I handed over my passport, GF was only able to get as far as the counter before collapsing face down and slowly sliding to the floor unconscious.

Needless to say we were now the centre of attention, and I had visions of us getting arrested or not being allowed into the country, but they didn't seem too bothered. Problem was now to find accommodation, as there was no way we could kip down unobtrusively in a corner of the airport as planned, and all the trucks from the cheap hostels had left. We ended up sharing a taxi with two helpful Germans to their hotel, but unfortunately the only room at the inn was the $200 honeymoon suite. Never in the field of budget travel has so much been spent for so little return.

The ironic thing about it all was that she was fine when we surfaced the next afternoon and remembered nothing after leaving the Cook Islands. I, however, had a hideous hangover.
(Flicker the Cat, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:48, Reply)

Hangovers around the world.
My most painful hangover ever was at Doha airport in Qatar. It's apparently quite a serious offence to be publicly drunk there, so absolutely reeking of vodka and vomiting copiusly was quite scary. Not as scary as subsequently being strip searched by two moustachiod Qatar-ese ladies while two others with guns looked on. And they had very big fingers.
On the bright side, it sobered me up quite quickly.
(mookroolz, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:44, Reply)

vibrating luggage
you can probably guess what i'm gonna say already, but every time i recount this story it makes me do a laughter wee. names and places have been changed a little bit to protect the guilty.

i was with my girlfriend vicky in new zealand and it was her birthday. we go out, get very drunk and decide to visit a sex shop. while vix isn't looking i buy a rather large black vibrating dildo and some batteries. we're due to fly the next day, so upon our return to the hostel i quite undiscretely secrete the dildo into her suitcase. we wake about 3 minutes before we are due to fly so panic sets in. vicky discovers the dildo and finds it hilarious. she wouldn't have found it hilarious if it not were for the alcoholic stupor, says thanks but she'll leave it here as she has me to satisfy her lady urges.

but no, i aint leaving $50 of black cock for the simple reason of price. so i chuck it in my hand luggage and manage to transfer it back into her suitcase en route in the taxi. we get there just in time and check the luggage in, go to the gate and get on the plane.

but what on earth is the delay? the captain says we've now missed our take-off slot and have to wait another half hour. the reason he gives is that there is a "sound emanation" from the hold. we sit and watch the suitcases come off the plane. vicky leans over and asks me why they are inspecting her case. its definitley hers cos its fucking massive and fucking pink. a member of the ground staff boards the plane and asks if a miss victoria markham is on board. the daggers i get from said (now former) girlfriend are enough to draw blood. she storms off the plane knowing full well what i've done. but this is the best bit. in clear view of the whole plane, vicky opens her case and pulls out the wobbling phallus to rapturous applause. but wait! she cant turn it off, its stuck to vibrate more violently than michael j fox in earthquake country. for a good ten minutes groundstaff grapple with the cock before vix rips it off them and hurls it on the floor. only this managed to pop the battery cover off and bring the vibrating fun to an end.

anyway, i get a good old bollocking from vicky and the groundcrew. but the best bit is that we get pissed on the plane and she lets me up the dirt track in the toilet 5 miles high. bonus!
(Jazz Bloke Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:35, Reply)

Not me...
...thankfully, but a friend of mine. As with a fair few of these stories, it was pre 9/11, and we were all off on holiday. Going through the security, all had a bit to drink.
Guard: 'Has anyone else handled or packed your bag for you sir?'
Friend: 'Well, there was that Iranian bloke who offered to hold it for a while...'
Guard: 'Come with me please sir.'

He got on the plane, but still won't talk about what happened to him.
(spangledonkey I've got a mouse. His name is Gerald., Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:21, Reply)

THE worst holiday
was 2 weeks in Protugal in 1983 with my parents (I was 14 at the time).

First dad slipped a disk and spent 1.5 weeks on his back - joyful times on the beach with my mum...anyway we made the most of it and I was spoiled rotten.

Off to Faro airport - flying with Dan Air (remember them). Announcement: We have a technical problem and are flying out an engineer and a part from Manchester. Flight will be delayed by 3 to 4 hours. Dad writhing in pain on the plastic seats, me bored out of my mind having exhausted the possibilities offered by the games machines in the bar.

Bar and shops then close - it was about midnight. This delay then became a 36 hour wait!!!! How long does it take to fix a plane? Dan Fuckin Dare more like!

Anyway, end up on the flight and things are ok for the first half hour. Then pilot announcement: If you are having trouble sleeping it is probably due to the excessive wind noise from the fron undercarriage which we can't fully retract.

OK, I can live with that. As we approach UK, another announcement: Due to the drag from the front undercarriage, we have burned more fuel than we expected. We are diverting to East Midlands airport and you will be bussed to Manchester.

OK, I can live with that too. On final approach to East Midlands, another announcement: We aren't sure if the front undercarriage is locked down, time for an emergency landing.

OK, can't really live with that, or the manic screaming from many of the passengers.

Eventually we make the smoothest landing ever at what is arguably the worst runway in the country surrounded by fire engines and ambulances. You could actually feel the silence just as the aircraft stopped moving and everyone gave the biggest sigh of relief you could possibly imagine.

And because my dad is a feckless bone idle git, we didn't even get any compo! Bastard...
(penrose your dog's got tits, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:21, Reply)

Luton Airport, July 2004
Taking a cello on a plane is a total nightmare. For starters, you have to book a seat for it because if you leave it

a) to be manhandled by baggage handlers, and
b) to be frozen at 30,000 feet,

the chances of it being in one piece by the time you reach your destination are pretty negligible.

Then there's customs - a pretty nerve-racking experience when you're carrying something that has steel strings you could use to strangle someone with and a bloody great spike that could easily be employed for stabbing purposes. Normally I get through customs by giggling, tossing my hair and wearing a low-cut top.

Not this time. Oh no. For I had packed a digital metronome in my hand luggage which chose that particular moment to switch itself on and start bleeping at sixty beats per minute.

Her Majesty's Customs were not amused.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:20, Reply)

"And now, for your in-flight enjoyment, the blockbuster film Final Destination! Thankyou for flying with Ryan Air"
( Naive Amoeba Bored Cig, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:20, Reply)

Scary
A bunch of stories... I'm not a keen flyer any more.......

I'm 18 and in Mauritius airport. My uncle works there so he's made all my arrangements and my luggage is safely sorted so I'm taken to the 1st class lounge and he proceeds to get me hammered - hooray - ordinarily at any rate. Some time later, I regain consciousness on a plane. That I don't remember getting on. It's flying. Somewhere.... Cue an amount of panic before I realised all I had to do was ask the odd couple next to me who look surprised that the dead body that was next to them just woke up - Cue another 10 hours with a screaming hangover, not enough water, no painkillers and too much noise. Not fun. Fortunately I'm on my way home - if it had been reversed I'd've put me on a different flight.. ***Evil Cackle***

Another time, same airport, I'm scanned several times and still setting off the ol' detector. "Excuse me sir, come with us" - mucho panico (I like my arse just the way it is) and they realise that it's my belt that I'd not taken off.... Phew

Another time, Menorca - I'd picked up an ear infection from the pool (didn't realise it at the time though) so on take off with the ol' air pressure building (like it does) my head feels like it's going to explode, then it abates, then it's back, etc etc all the way home. Not much fun... I actually now have permanent tinitus..... (Sorry, what did you say?)

The most recent at JFK - for some reason they're a bit sensitive about security there (!). I don't look like your average terrorist (I look a bit like Tiger Woods really), but setting off the detector repeatedly isn't considered good. Cue Mr Airport security suggesting that I need to stand there (they have markers where your feet have to go) - I'm not arguing with the humourless tw*t, but my missus tries to pass me my passport (for when they haul me off to Guantanmo) and Rent-a-Thug says that she has to leave NOW and not pass me anything (That's all said in an angry, NY, humourless I-Have-A-Gun type voice)... I'm a bit worried as I'd like my passport and to be some where else just now but he decides that he's not going to violate me today and lets me go. On the up side we got upgraded to business class on that flight :-)

Apologies for length, actually - No I don't !!
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:17, Reply)

My most dignified moment
I'd gone to visit a mate in Malmo, southern Sweden, and the nearest airport was a ferry trip away in Copenhagen. On the last day of my stay we elected to have an all-day bender in Copenhagen.

And what a bender it was. It ended at about 1am with me throwing some poor bastard's bike into the docks as my mate sailed away on the last ferry (I am not terribly proud of this), then I had several hours to kill until I had to check in for my flight home at 7am - so I had the wonderful idea of carrying on drinking at all-night bars until I set off for Copenhagen airport.

To this day I have no idea what happened during the next few hours.

The next thing I knew, I was being roughly shaken awake by a rather agitated security guard. A queue of people were standing about 30 ft away tutting at me and turning their childrens' heads around to point elsewhere. It took me a while to work out why; or, indeed, where the hell I was. But as my senses slowly came back to life all became clear.

I was laying flat on my back in the middle of the terminal at the airport, with my rucksac nearby, all the contents strewn wildly about the floor, including the large amount of porn I had presumably purchased somewhere along the way. And, inexplicably, a big black dildo.

And I was drenched almost head to foot in piss and vomit. I can only hope it was my own.
.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:17, Reply)

This happened before 9/11..thank god....
Me and some mates decide to go to kos on a booze up. All going well, few jars in the airport bar and what not, until we get to security, and whilst standing in the que, my mate,(we shall call him "R", long curly/girly hair tied in a pony tail, tree surgeon so hands
all cut and scratched teh fuck, the most likely looking ganja smoker ever, even tho he has never touched the stuff)decides, becuase it sound funny, to say loudly to his girl "Don't mention the bomb in my bag!"

WOOOOSH!!

All fucking hell breaks loose!, about 4 security just pile him, and drag him off out of sight........We think, ok, just keep going and meet him at the gate,so when the final boarding call comes we are all a tad concerned.....
****2 days later***
All sitting round the pool relaxing, when in walks "R", with his gripping tale of the last 2 days.

Even tho he explained clearly that he was "just having a laugh". The security told him that he had issued a bomb warning, and they had to take all such statements seriously, even if they are made by tree-hugging hippies...So, he misses the flight, gets severly bollocked by security and leaves Gatwick airport to then find out that the only available flight within the next 3 days is from Bristol and he has to get a bus there right away coz he hasn't got much time.

Needles to say he was quite as a lamb on the
way home.....Thank god it was before 9/11,
I dread to think what they would have done to
him after that.....

Sorry for the length, but mummy says it makes me special.....
(smirker neverletmetellyabouttheraggamuffinbiznessandting!, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:15, Reply)

Oh, and...
Customs at Moscow airport: they make you take your shoes off and put blue plastic socks like giant novelty condoms on your feet while you walk through the metal detector. Those crazy commies eh?
(oranguturn, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:13, Reply)

Its a Bomb!!
I once spent 3 hours in an interview room in Singapore airport after our connection from Hanoi stopped for fuel.

Some future humorist had drawn a big pic of a bomb in the lad's toliets, and when this was annouced to the passengers as the reason for the lengthy delay, I had the temerity to laugh loudly .

I found it slightly less funny when a small south-east asian man wearing smooth, silky nylon gloves saw fit to poke my jacksie with one (or maybe two) fingers. But then again, you've got to laugh....
(timbrooketaylor, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:11, Reply)

Cyprus
A nice relaxing holiday all in all .... was waiting in the airport for the flight home and walked past a charity collection bucket thing.

Arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh arrrgh... ad inf

img.photobucket.com/albums/v299/garfi3ld/charity1.jpg

img.photobucket.com/albums/v299/garfi3ld/charity3.jpg
(garfi3ld, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:07, Reply)

The Flying Doctor
Airports might be annoying, but you do miss them when they're not there.

Travelling in true wanky student hippy style round Cambodia in 2001, myself and a couple of mates hired mopeds. Muppet mate somehow manages to fall off whilst going about 5 mph on soft grass. The fall didn't look bad- it was practically in slow motion and everyone's first reaction was to laugh, including the muppet mate. When he instinctively tried to leap up, his laugh turned to a scream as he noticed his dislocated ankle. There was some debate about popping it back in again, which we luckily didn't attempt- it later turned out the leg was also broken in three places.

Anyway.

We got him back to the no-hospital village we were staying in. We'd originally got there by jeep as there weren't any roads, but he was in no condition to do the skull-rattling off-road bounce back to the capital city, where the nearest hospital was.

Enter the Flying Doctor.

The Flying Doctor was an Australian chap who sounded (and later turned out to look) like a cross between Rolf Harris and a serial killer. We contacted said medic via a primitive village telephone: "G'day. Yeah. No. His leg, eh? I see. Sure mate. Yeah. Siem Riep? I'll come and getcha. No problem, mate." He then rang off before we had a chance to explain what we'd assumed might be a hitch in his plan to fly out to us in a small plane and pilot us back to safety: the village had no airport.

Five hours later, with muppet mate going grey and passing out every so often, having had no painkillers apart from some paracetamol, we're beginning to despair. But all is not lost. The following memory is best soundtracked to the Ride Of The Valkyries- what's that on the horizon? A tiny speck, growing bigger and bigger... Can you guess what it is yet? Heaven praise the noble Flying Doctor, he's here to save us. But where will he land? He's getting closer, lower... There's no runway, he'll have to turn around and go back again! Woe. But no, the Cambodian villagers tending their crops must instead sprint for their lives as The Flying Doctor lands his aeroplane in their main rice field, scattering mud and crops and triangular hats everywhere. He rolls to a stop, having wrecked most of the field, then jumps out and runs up to us with a cheeky cackle, like he'd just done a slightly dodgy u-turn or something.

I'll add the guilt over excessive length to the daily weight of knowing I was partially responsible for depriving an entire Cambodian village of their livelihood.
(oranguturn, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:04, Reply)

Pervy security
Due to massive paranoid USA security I once got swooshed all around - up and down my legs, feet and arms with a magic beepy stick.

I was wearing tight cotton shorts, a vest top and flipflops. There was NO WAY I had a bomb.
(hottwist, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 13:02, Reply)

as a stupid hippy druggy teenager
growing up in australia, when my mother couldnt cope with me anymore i was shipped off to the UK to live with my father. 13 years old, on my own, transferring planes in bangkok airport, i had a large lump of cannibis hidden in my shoe (such a naive idiot, no real idea what the consequences would be)

walking though the gates, two armed guard with a big dog suddenly approached me. I'm there with a ripped chili peppers t-shirt, dredlocks, looking like a total prat, i thought i was done for.

they brushed right past me and grabbed the guy in a nice suit behind me, and took him off through a doorway. i boarded the next plane with my heart thumping in my mouth.



15 years on, i still find it embarrassing now to look back at myself.
(Mildred is a slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 12:54, Reply)

Down boy
I was flying back from a rather fantastic holiday Costa Rica and had to change in Dallas. As Mrs Tugnut and I went through customs I laughed as I saw one of the guards with his German Shepard tearing at the leash and pulling the poor fellow around the desk. A few seconds later I was on the ground, arms behind my back and being dragged into an 'interviewing' room. It was then that I realised I had forgot to remove the half ounce of highly pungent skunk from inside of my Tilley Hat.

God - did we ever laugh about that one.
(DrTugnut, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 12:51, Reply)