That passenger who's late onto the aircraft
was me once. and it was entirely my own fault.

Standing in the check-in queue at Bristol, about to take an internal flight to Edinburgh, and I realise I have no Photo ID on me. Fucksocks. Nice girl behind the desk tells me to go and see the woman over at their other desk, who sympathises, but tells me there's no way I'm getting on an aeroplane without photo ID. She's happy to bump me to the later flight, if I can get back with ID, So I tell her I'll be back later. She tells me that she will pre-check me in, and the absolute latest I can be back by is 18:10.

Cue me, driving like a complete and utter knob through 3 counties to collect my passport, and back again. A journey that can easily take 1h40 one way, done in 2 hours both ways. I get back to the nice lady behind the counter at 18:08! She checks my ID, and then says "follow me." We go through restricted areas of the airport, through baggage handling areas, completely miss out security and the departure lounge, and up onto the tarmac. She then points to one aircraft in row of EasyJet 737's, and says "That one. Hurry but do not run." The stairs to the aircraft are retracted almost before I'm even on board, and we're taxying before I've sat down! We leave the tarmac at 18:15. That was 'kin close!
(fastandfurryous What was the question again?, Sat 4 Mar 2006, 0:00, Reply)

We Do Not Negotiate With Terrorists.
The annual Godbox Family outing rolls around and we find ourselves at the airport.

My dad & grandad are dressed in their best Eastend leather jackets, which do not flatter men of short stature. How they hope to wear these once we arrive in Fuerteventura, one can only speculate. Both look like what they think they are: The Krays. Only I can see the twat factor. They are about as dangerous as a hedgehog in a teacosy. Big talk, & big coats. Big deal. Its futile being embarrassed by men with foghorn voices who talk in a curious mixture of rhyming slang & monty python, so by this point, I embrace it.

Checkout Woman: 'Sir, Your bag is too heavy; You'll have to leave something behind.'

Dadbox to Grandadbox: 'Dammit dad, we'll have to take out the AK-47s..'

Needless to say, 40 mins later, after bag search & close scrutiny by security, dadbox learns the hard way, that the weaponry jokes should be kept for AFTER take-off.
(godbox 3rd best prostitute in London, after mum & sis, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 23:00, Reply)

Hernias, Han Solo and hurling
My very first trip to the states was nearly a disaster before I'd even left my hometown. The chav dumbfuck of a taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong bus terminal at 4 in the morning. Shit, shit and more shit, I soon realised I was totally stranded with under half an hour before my bus was due to leave. So with three full suitcases I ran top speed along the empty duel carriageway, with no idea where I was going, giving myself a hernia in the process. Luckily before bursting into tears I spotted a Macdonalds I'd been to once before and made the bus just as the driver was closing the baggage hatch. It doesn't end there.
At the airport I was told by the vacant check-in lady that the ticket I'd just paid 500 quid for wasn't a "real ticket" (her words) and I'd have to wait until a seat could be found. I wasn't alone though, soon made friends with a guy in a similar situation. We loudly moaned about the shitness of Gatwick for 45 minutes until he was offered a seat in business class. By now I was shitting it as my plane was due to leave in about... oooh, a minute? I was resigned to my ugly fate when they finally gave me a seat. In business class too, score! As I boarded the plane I passed my new friend and laughed about how cool it was that I'm in a top seat as well. He just smiled like a smug bastard and said "yeah, you've got my seat mate, I've just been bumped to first class" utter, utter cunt. More?
My connecting flight in Carolina was possibly the scariest experience of my life. The pilot reminded me so much of Han Solo I was chuffed and couldn't wait to get in the air, until I saw the plane. One of those 10 seater prop planes. Very old model. In the air I had nothing to do but shut my eyes as tight as I could for 20 of the longest minutes in history while this rickety bastard literally fell through the sky. I only opened my eyes once, when the cockpit alarms went off. Looking out the window on my right I saw the horizon tilted at a horrid 45 degree angle and quite spectacularly threw up everywhere.

On the ground, the guy who took my passport was from my hometown. Fuckin' chances of that?
(Suddenly, zebras Safe and sound for eternity, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 22:41, Reply)

Memories of 'Dan Dare'
As mentioned in previous posts Dan Air was coined Dan Dare by any who had the unfortunate experience of flying with them. Mine was returning from Alicante after a fortnight of liver damage in Benidorm in 1981.

As we 'hurtled' down the runway in the middle of night braced for take-off, suddenly everything went black, the engines stopped and we ground to a halt at the end of the runway. We sat for a couple of hours in darkness and sweltering heat with little or no communication from the cabin crew.

Eventually we were asked to leave the aircraft and board a bus back to the terminal. The nightmares started as I descended the stairs at the rear of the aircraft, to be confronted by the captain of the plane on a step ladder, sleeves rolled up, with what appeared to be a spanner in his hand, effing and blinding with his head in one of the engines!

After an extremely uncomfortable night on the airport plastic chairs with no amenities open (it was 2 in the morning) we were eventually summoned together. The captain stood in front of us, covered in grease, with the odd blooded knuckle, and announced 'I have come to the end of my engineering knowledge - we shall have to fly a plane out from the UK'. Never have I heard such a collective sigh of relief! Another 24 hours on the plastic chairs was a pleasure compared with the thought of getting back on that plane!
(tell me about the rabbits, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 21:49, Reply)

this one time in manchester airport
we were quite stoned and having a beer in one of the bars in there, and we turned around to see someone dressed as Bertie Basset handing out free sweets :) he made the smoking gesture to us and we laughed, and gave him hugs :)
( Dazz - In Your Base, Killing Your Dudes since, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 21:30, Reply)

Best excuse for holding up an entire plane ever
You know how much people hate that one person who you can't take off without, and they prepare their best tutting faces to stare you down as you scuttle red-faced to your seat.

A few years ago I was that passenger, but you could see people hastily modifying their expressions of bile-filled rage as I was wheeled through the plane by a nurse, to be strapped to a stretcher attached to the back three rows, bruised and battered with my leg in plaster ankle to groin.
(sticks Errol flynn in female form, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 21:27, Reply)

15.45
My mum, to this day, cannot read a 24hr clock and that wasn't too helpful when we were in Spain once upon a time.
We were on the way to Malaga airport when my parents decided to go round the town for a while. "Don't worry," my Mum says, "It's 3 o'clock. The flights not until 15.45. We have over two hours."
So we arrive at the airport, just as the flight is about to take off so the entire family is legging it trhough the terminal. We missed the flight anyway and spent to next day in the airport.
( Butters and his titanium codsocket, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 21:02, Reply)

the swatch geek
Another quick story: while waiting for a flight at Newark, I was wandering around, and went into a Swatch shop. I was wearing a Swatch I bought in London, and the kid behind the counter saw it and... flipped. "What a cool chrono! Can I see it?!" Practically ripped it off my wrist, gazed at it longingly, took it to the back for a minute to buff up the glass. For all I know he took a picture of it.
Must have been a model they didn't get in the USA... 8)
( bnt what, me worry?, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 21:02, Reply)

the bass gun
I'm a bassist in my spare time, and my first good instrument was one of the Steinberger type with the tiny body. This was while I was living in South Africa; before I moved back to the UK I had to find a strong case to transport it in, and in that part of the world, guns are more common than guitars, so I settled on a strong plastic rifle case.
As some of you may know, the necks of most guitars contain a metal reinforcing bar, called a "truss rod", which is usually round. The bass has one, and also contains electronic components (pickup, wire etc.). Some of you might have guessed where this story is going by now...
I landed at Heathrow and went to get my luggage; the bass/rifle case came through the "oversized" chute, which took me a bit of time to figure out. I went over there, grabbed the case... and three big guys grabbed me. I was frogmarched over to Customs, who started grilling me about the rifle I was BLOODY STUPID enough to put in the hold of a plane, that they had seen on the X-Ray... until I got the case open, and everyone had a laugh. Almost. Just for kicks they went through all my tightly-packed luggage, and gave me another bollocking when they found I was carrying some "biltong" (beef jerky), which they let me keep anyway.
The case did its job very well - I still have it, and the bass, today, 15 years later.
( bnt what, me worry?, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 20:55, Reply)

I've never really had any trouble
But I do remember being in JFK (11/11/2005), stood in the toyshop, with model plane in hand, and said perhaps a little too loudly for the store clerk to hear...

"All I need now is a model skyscraper..."

Ticket, Hell, straight to.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 3 Mar 2006, 20:48, Reply)

airline sponsored weaponry
My brother, when flying home for christmas, made the mistake of pre-wrapping the parents gifts..when going through security in an unspecified airport in California, the nice airline people had to slice open his carefully wrapped gifts, to make sure there was nothing untoward inside. Upon arriving in the UK, my brother discovered, much to his glee, that he had unwittingly smuggled onto his flight one of the box cutters that the airport staff had used to slice open his festive treats. stamped 'property of XXX airline' and everything.

He was going to send it to them with a polite note pointing out their error, but in the end kept the offending article as a souvenir.
(Carmen Dyslexia, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 20:43, Reply)

I went to an arts-specialty high school.
Every couple of years we would go on a European tour as a choir. My first tour in 1994 started off with a delayed flight out of Toronto, so our teacher assigned each choir section a specific time to meet him in the restrooms for rehearsal, as they offered the best acoustics in the airport. As the teacher was male, the men rehearsed fully inside the restrooms. This must have greatly amused the occupants of the urinals and toilet stalls.

Being an alto, I had to stand in the ladies' room doorway with a dozen other teenage girls, with the teacher standing outside directing from the corridor. We got both smiles and funny looks from women entering the restroom. I recall that while we sang, one of the tenors sat on the floor in the corridor with his hat on the floor, hoping to get tips from passers-by that enjoyed our madrigals and songs from Latin masses.

Somebody must have been upset by us, though, as the soprano rehearsal was interrupted by security officers that didn't approve of our teacher looking into the ladies' room doorway!
(ghettobooty, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 20:10, Reply)

Flying out of Cincinnati a few years back.
I had spent a good while (40 mins or so) going through security, having my bags inspected, taking off my shoes, and suchlike. This was only a few weeks after 9-11, so everyone was on edge.

After security had finally decided I wasn't carrying a weapon, I proceeded through, found my gate, and sat down.

And then I laughed. Right in front of me was a big table covered in deadly items: Chainsaws, fuel canisters, knives, fireworks, boxcutters, and a neat little sign which read "Be sure to check your belongings for any of these unapproved items."

There was no guard, I could've killed everyone.
( Digeridude Lord Wellington's Beef Trapeze, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:50, Reply)

When in England, I apparently look like a drug dealer.
After the end of high school, I went away for a year in the US. This meant taking a flight to London then accross the ocean and the same on the way back.
On the way in, I get picked out of a line of 50+ exchange students in Heathrow and my handbag and clothes are checked for residue of drugs.
One year later, same place, only I'm pretty much by myself and guess what, yes, picked out of the line and checked again... coudn't stop laughing.
I was also wearing a sweater with a hood each time, I guess if you want to smuggle drugs, don't wear one.
Oh and btw this was before 9-11, I carried my swiss knife all along and it was fine, never occured to me that doing so would be criminal one day.
(w-a-y, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:41, Reply)

Dirty Scummers
Manchester Airport 2 days before Xmas, all the scum of Manc and the surrounding areas have been saving up their dole to fly to Magaluf for Xmas.

Me and my friends are going to Prague, and are dressed in long coats, hats and scarves in anticipation of the freezing temperatures that await us.

This isn't a story about the long coats getting us bumraped by security, but more than once that night we heard some chav dad say to his woman:-


"Look at these twats - don't they know it's hot in Spain at Xmas"

(PS the smoking area and the scum within it that night made me quit cigarettes, I don't EVER want to have anything in common with those people again)
(FiftyFour, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:23, Reply)

Farts and bombs!
The lads and I had gone on a Guinness fuelled trip to Dublin. On the way there, as soon as we got into the airport this happened. Or this if you want my friend's version.

Anyway, we'd had an absolutely awesome time. Five days of pure laughter, meeting people from all around the world.

We were on the aeroplane waiting for take off in Dublin when the steward stands right next to my seat to do the emergency mask demonstration. We were bang in the middle of the plane. He must have forgotten something because he walked off, but left the mask he was demonstrating with on the seat in front of me.

Now, those of you who drink a lot of stout will know the morning effects: Farts of death! I'd had very little other than stout, ale and Subways going into my body for five days and I was unpeeling wallpaper with my noxious gases.

So I grabbed the mask, farted into it, whilst me and my mates creased up with laughter. When he returned, the steward put the mask on to show everybody how it was done. He must have been shitting himself at the sight of six 18 year old lads laughing like maniacs with tears streaming down our faces.

***********

We'd landed at Leeds/Bradford airport after our extremely short flight and were still chuckling away. We walk past security who say "we're not checking passports, walk straight through." So I said to my friend, mocking the security "Yeah, those bombs are fine."

They heard me! I had 2 major problems:
1. Airport Security workers were born with no personality.
2. This was little over a week after the London bombings.

I was interrogated for 2 hours! I told them I was being ironic. They told me that the airport is “no place for humour.” They went to check my baggage and searched through my bags. Whilst they were searching, he asked me what I did for a living & study. I told them I had just finished my A-levels. He asked me what subjects. Maths, English and Economics I told him. It’s a good job they didn’t pull my mate Mike who did Chemistry, Physics, Maths and Further Maths.

Alas, I didn’t get finger raped and in the end they just told me to “fuck off”. In all honesty I knew they were just scaring me otherwise they wouldn’t have let all my mates go. They must have been bored.

Apologies for leeeeeeeeeeeength.
(wonderbrawl was pronounced dead on, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:17, Reply)

Once you pop, you can't stop...Can you? you Egyptian cunt..!!!.
Flew to Egypt with my then other half for a romantic Nile cruise...a week of idyllic peaceful sailing down the Nile, stopping off at temples and buying cheap knock off shite and daft little pyramids and statues from annoying Egyptian gimps who won't leave you alone...not to mention the perverts who leer at your bird and say things like "how much for sexy lady?" "What have you got? You can't even afford a hat for fucks sakes, and have to use a tea-towel...what could you possibly give me that I don't already have, or that I couldn't buy with my own money?" "One Million Camels, very good, very good"..."er, no, its not very good you see, whilst the thought of owning a million camels is tempting (4 million camel toes at my beck and call) It'd cost me a fortune to import them to britain, and then I'd have to buy acres of land to keep them all on..no thanks...I'll keep the bird"...

anyway, I digress...we'd enjoyed the holiday (topped off with a heavy love making session atop the steaming cruise liner under the moonlight on the last night...Again, I digress) and were in the airport...

I had some pringles in my flight bag brought from home, to eat on the way back...going through the bag checks, this pharoah cunt decided to check my bags...fair enough, nothing in there incriminating...just my pringles, and all our shite bought from random gimps...anyway, the cunt only opened my pringles and ate some...to which I replied "What the fucking hell are you doing? They're mine.." he then looked at me, and ate some more, so I went psycho and ranted at him, only to be ushered away at gunpoint to a small room where I was made to see the error of my ways...but not before I'd made my point, naturally...anyway, I got out, finally, to find my bird surrounded by loads of these fucking mummy lovers, and see the cunt of an attendant sharing my pringles with his mates...what an arsehole...

then the cunts searched me and found my lip balm...the cunts...the whole plane saw it and laughed at me...I hate egypt...

So if you ever go to Luxor airport, and you see a guy eating pringles, give him a slap from me...
(Big Andy, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:15, Reply)

Blowin' In The Wind
The Boeing 737 was an hour late taxiing to the runway for takeoff in Albuquerque, NM, USA on a windy evening. Many passengers were upset that they might miss their connection in Phoenix, AZ that would take them to Orange County, CA. They would arrive in Phoenix with just minutes to spare to run through the airport to make their connection.

Looking out the window, I saw a tumbling plastic dry-cleaning bag, being blown by the wind, towards the aircraft. Abruptly, the plastic bag jumped off the ground and went right into the engine. The lights flickered and my heart filled with dread: was there engine damage? Were we doomed? I frantically began waving my arms at the stewardess, she informed the pilot, and he did a U-turn and rolled right back to the terminal for another hour of delay, while mechanics picked plastic out of the engine cowling.

It's funny, despite all the broken connections, not a single person complained about the additional delay. All the impatient people suddenly had the patience of Job.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 19:06, Reply)

Captain and cabin crew joke
A friend of mine (First Officer on a charter airline at the time, now promoted captain, God help us) told me that the cabin crew would often issue a challenge to the flight deck to include a particular word into their flight announcements. For example - Knicker - e.g. "Any special requirements today please ask a member of our cabin crew like *Nick - errh and if you are not sure the button to call the cabin crew is immediately above your head.

Or, "We will be leaving when the refuelling is done. Can cabin crew check all exits?" DUNCAN

Heard similar myself on a Ryanair flight - one of the cabin crew (flight to Barcelona) was called Jesus (Hay-zoos in Spanish - yes I know you know!). Well the number of references such as "The temperature at Stansted is 13 degrees and will still be the same when we arrive, GOD WILLING!" was impressive.


Length, girth - it's all the same to me ... SQUARE!
(lozzzz, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:59, Reply)

naked
I had to visit Sweden for work, to have a bit of a poke around a Volvo factory. Lots of fun but coming home I set off the metal detector in the airport.

Aha, my belt. Take that off.

Beep.

Uh, oh shit my keys. Hang on.

Beep.

I've not got anything else. A pat down reveals my pockets are empty...

After starting to get seriously worried that the rubber gloves would be coming out, I remember that I've just come from visiting a factory.

And the apparently stylish oxford brogues I'm wearing are actually steel-capped safety shoes.

They made me take them off and have them x-rayed.
(inflateable, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:48, Reply)

Spoons
Long weekend in Paris with gf. breakfast in hotel, she says "get me a spoon would you", so i march over to where they are stored and grab a handful (40 or so) of them and offer them to her. she laughs, takes one.

now im a bit odd sometimes and like to milk a joke until it isnt funny anymore, then milk it a bit more until it eventually becomes funny again. at which point it virtually becomes a tradition.

so i stick the spoons in my pocket and for the next few days offered her a spoon at the most unexpected moments (ie when i thought she had forgotten the last hilarious spoon gag).

fast forward 2 days, at charles de gaulle airport....

beep beep beep.

erm "whats that for ?" i wonder ? I havent got anything metallic... oops. i had forgotten all about them.

"please empty your pockets, sir.."

Emptying your pockets of 40 or so spoons, while trying to make up an excuse, with a long queue of people watching is a little surreal and will stay with me (and the other people in the queue too no doubt)..
( pregnantfridge, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:37, Reply)

Emigration Valentine style
I married a Canadian, which means I got the choice to carry on living in the UK, or up sticks and move to Canada. After nanoseconds of thought, I decided to emigrate to Canada.

So after filling in the forms, submitting various bodily fluids for testing, paying who knows how much money, and then waiting almost a year, I had my permanent visa approved. So we sold the house and booked our one-way flight to Canada.

We were flying out on Valetines Day, which was the first Saturday of half term that year. We checked out of the hotel [Another long story, but never, ever stay at the Radisson at Heathrow] and somehow got a cab despite the hotel's attempts to keep us from being on time. Heathrow was packed (half term, remember?), and it took over an hour just to get inside the terminal - the queues were that long. This despite us arriving three hours before take off, like the good little travellers we are.

We'd booked World Traveller Plus for a couple of hundred quid extra, which means you get an extra peanut or something, rather than the usual cattle-class World Traveller. Hey, we're leaving the country for good, so why not splash out a bit? Anyway, we finally get to the check-in desk about 45 mins before the flight, and we're told that we were lucky - we were being bumped to business class. Yes! We were so excited, but we didn't have long to celebrate as it took 30 mins to get through security - so any duty free shopping had to be done at top speed.

I was feeling pumped about being upgraded, about leaving the litter-strewn land of my birth, about it being Valentine's Day, about having a few grand in the bank after selling the house ... So I decided to buy the wife a ring. A really, really expensive ring. We headed for the high-falootin' jewelery shop, and I asked wifey to pick out the ring she liked best. We settled on one that came to a couple of quid less than a grand, so I waved the Visa card and the sales assistant went into the back to call the credit card company.

It took ages, and I was getting worried that we'd miss the flight. After lots of too-ing and fro-ing, and me talking to Visa and telling them my mum's inside leg measurement or whatever passes for a security test, they finally let us go, the ring having been well and truly paid for.

We run like maniacs to the gate, slap down the boarding passes, and wheeze that we've been bumped to business class, and sorry we're late.

"Oh noes!", says the airline chick, "you're not in business class at all!!11!!1oneone!1!".

I wept silently for a split second, until she added "you've been further upgraded to first class".

Bottom line - we flew first class (free shampers & Belgian choccies, and horizontal bed-sized seats) on our way out of the UK, my wife got a sparkly multi-diamond platinum ring, and my life in a new continent started on a high.

Of course when we landed and it was minus 40 and three feet of snow, but twas a grand day.
( gfreeman is only here for the beer, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:35, Reply)

Private Aviation Airports
As some of you know, I used to work on Wall Street. The firm I worked for was BIG into the New York Yankees, and one weekend we decided it would be cool to charter a small jet, take 20 guys up to Boston and catch the Yankees versus the Red Sox.

I hate BOTH teams, so I spent the entire day with another broker, running around Boston from pub to pub, drinking as much as we could find.

All well and good until I am watching the game on the telly in one of the bars and realize that its almost over...so we rush outside in my drunken state and flag down a taxi.
We get to the Civilian/Private portion of the airport at Boston's Logan Airport and realize the game was only halfway through when we legged it for the airport.

So each of us takes over our own small sofas and we nod off. Until this great big bastard wakes me up, poking me in the chest with his finger. I wake up and he says "What are you doing here?" and before I could stop myself, I said "What the fuck do YOU care?!" It was as the words were coming out that I noticed he had one of those Secret Service ear buds in his ear.

He said "You mean you didnt see the great big blue and white plane outside?!" Yep: Airforce One was on the tarmac, literally a couple hundred feet from the doorway I was staring at.

It was Bill Clinton...and they were sweeping the area for 'threats'. I then proceeded to take the piss of a good bit of the Presidential staff for being pot smokers.

Bill nodded as I made the international sign of a "blow job" to send him on his way.

I was NOT popular.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:34, Reply)

Ireland Innit
I'd just been to Ireland with my family,and we were coming back.Great trip,but you don't want to hear about that.

Anywho,we arrive back at Heathrow,and we go outside to see if our neighbour,who we've arranged will pick us up,is there yet.She ain't.So we wait.And while we're waiting,we see 5-6 policemen walk past with submachineguns.And my brother's not too pleased,'cause he has a full beard,a tan,and a huge ,heavy,bulky jacket.Suspicious.

So when we finally see our neighbours car,we're pretty damn happy.

Until it drives down the wrong bit.

So my Mum's like "Go run other there and see if it's her" to my older brother.

And He gives her the best look, followed up with a lecture on exactly why he's not going to run ANYWHERE.

Which shut her up.
(CatfaceJones, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:22, Reply)

Fun with medical research
Two stories: (This was long ago. I wouldn't try it after Sept 11, 2001 even with a letter from the pope, who probably wouldn't approve of the work anyway.)

On our honeymoon, wife picks up some blood samples from a collaborator's lab. "Pack them in dry ice for the flight home", she says. The tech who packed it must have thought "dry ice" means "towel off some frozen water", because the box was dripping when we got off the plane. Water, thank god, not blood. I hold it behind my back as we go through customs. We have no documentation for this stuff, but we have declared a teapot we bought, and customs must have figured that's what was in the box.


A decade later, we fly to Italy for a visit with wife's former colleague, and bring some DNA for her to play with. She's faxed a bunch of documents to us so we have it all explained in Italian. "Oh and can you bring me a bag of those nice corn chips from Consett? We don't have them here in Italy yet." Fly in to Florence and the DNA passes with the briefest of glances at the paperwork and the dismissive wave of a hand. But the corn chips! Four Italian guys in uniform looking the bag over carefully and discussing the contents in great detail. I spy our friend through the glass wall and she seems to be having a fit of giggles. No rubber glove treatment, and they let us keep the chips.
(cox2inhibitor, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:15, Reply)

Fun at LAX
During my recent overseas travels, I had the luxury of spending 13 hours at LAX because some bastard thought it would be a good idea to get on planes without a boarding pass, thus delaying my flight and causing me to miss my outgoing from LA.

Two interesting things happened there. Firstly, being a 13 to 14 hour wait, I decided that I needed a nap. As the chairs in the waiting area are complete shit, I approached a bench in the eating area and passed out. I was harshly awoken by a member of the airport staff.

"You can't sleep here."
"Why not? There's no one around."
"You aren't a paying costumer."

To which I promptly stood up, bought a burrito from the nearest stand, sat down and said,

"It's too hot. I can't eat it now. So, fuck off. I'm tired."

After I'd woken from my nap, my burrito was cold, soggy and inedible. So, that was about $10 which never satisfied me.

It was about time for my flight, so I ran to my terminal. As I was in line for boarding, I witnessed possibly the most stereotypical picture I may ever see again.

There, directly in front of me, was a Mexican family of 12. All of them had reasonable carry-on luggage except for the father and the son.


He had a television resting on his shoulder with the fruit of his loins toting hubcaps.
(somethingwitty, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:06, Reply)

I recently ventured to England
without any real plans as to what I'd be doing for the week other than attending a bash, so the immigration questioning was a little awkward
"What's the main purpose of your visit?"
"I'm just visiting some friends"
"How do you know these people?"
(I wasn't exactly quick thinking after having no sleep and being on a rather long flight, so I couldn't think of a respectible answer so I went with the truth)
"erm, the internet"
He then proceeded to lecture me on how what I was doing was unsafe and how I should look out for myself and basically taking the piss while I turned redder and redder.

Soon after when I went to buy a train ticket, I realized my wallet'd been nicked between the plane and exiting customs, leaving me without money, credit cards, or identification.

The way back was slightly less eventful- the duty free alcohol in my underage posession raised no questions.
( abandonnship, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:06, Reply)

Syriohno
During most people's year out on a language degree they spend a couple of months in a uni in Germany, or working as a language assistant in France. I study Arabic, and spent ten months in the axis of evil in the wonderful country known as Syria.
Cut to parental and sibling types visiting me. We visited Aleppo.

During our visit my brother bought a knife. 4-inch blade. Since this is the Middle East and not namby-pamby England it is made out of good quality Damascus steel. The kind that once you sharpen it, it stays pretty darn sharp. It's not a replica. With a 4-inch blade.

My dad has a beard and trims it with the kind of scissors you can buy from Boots.

Cut to check-in, Aleppo airport. We all have our hand luggage. My bro remembers his dangerous little knife sitting in his bag. Uh-oh. This is after September 11, pressure on Syria from the US and UN etc etc etc.

So we put our bags through the metal detector and it beeps. Security stop it and start to rummage round in our bags. My brother's worried. I tell him about that sign in the British embassy saying that there is nothing they can do if you break the law. They pull out....

My dad's beard scissors and make us put them in the hold. Everything else goes through fine.

Syrian Airlines: Knives Good, Scissors Bad!
(lama, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:05, Reply)

Athens Airport
Travelling with my 18 months old daughter who had the worst case of the runs after a six week stay in Albania (don't ask) she fills her nappy and saturates her trousers in the departure lounge. I take her into the ladies and change her into the first spare outfit. I then carry her, shitty clothes in tied up carrier and hand luggage back and for some reason they waved me back through passport control pdq.

Eventually we got on the flight and I could not get into my seat holding my daughter, so asked the woman in the outside seat to hold her while I shuffled past. In an American accent she asked if the mosquito bites were catching. A stewardess overheard and moved the American away. I never saw my daughter all flight as the stewardesses fought over her. I had my first uninterrupted three hour sleep in six weeks.

Back in the UK I had to change my daughter from the skin up again and when asked at the check-in what hand luggage I carried I had to answer "A bag load of shit!"

Not a happy memory
(whiskas loved by 8 out of 10 cats, Fri 3 Mar 2006, 18:00, Reply)