Under a bench at Washington Dulles airport.
Not so much is the strangeness of the place, but the circumstances leading up to my being there.

I was flying to Minneapolis, Minnesota from Manchester England via Washington Dulles, Washington D.C to see the lady who is now my wife. I had done a lot of flying back and forth prior to this flight, which happened to be the final one. Anyone who's done a lot of international flying will tell you that you gather a lot of interesting stories on your travels. Out of all the catastrophes I faced on my travels, this is by far the most incredible.

My flight arrived arrived in Washington Dulles airport at around 2pm US Eastern time. By this time I had already been travelling for 15 hours and was not feeling at my best. Of course, upon entering a US airport from another country, my first port of call is the immigration area.

Upon arriving in the immigration area, I am overawed by what I see. A queue of what turned out to be over 2000 people were waiting in those long windy queue things they rope off. Of the 16 available immigration desks, only one was being manned by an immigration officer.

Time was already tight for me 'cause I only had 2 hours before boarding for my next flight began. In this two hours I had to get through immigration, exit the security area, collect my luggage (which included two cases and a fucking huge box containing my PC & monitor), re-check my luggage and get a new boarding pass, and make it to my gate.

2 hours later when my flight was scheduled for departure, I had only progressed about a quarter of the way through the line.

In the line I met a lot of nice people who all had their own horror stories. The worst was a family of 5 who had booked a flight to some obscure island for a once in a lifetime holiday on some unspoiled paradise. However, the airline they're with only flies to/from this island every 4 days, so missing their flight pretty much fucked their entire holiday.

By 8:45pm I made it to immigration. Immigration was not happy. You see, out of the 12 months prior to this trip, I had spent 7 of them in the US, which they now decided to try and tell me was bad. I had adhered to the 3 month visa waiver thingies they give, flying back to England once my time was up then immediately returning to the US.

Mrs Immigration woman did not seem to appreciate that I could continue to work for a British company while in the US, since I'm a software developer and can pretty much work from anywhere I like. She eventually stamped a yellow piece of paper, handed it to me, then pointed in the vague direction of some corner and said "go there and wait for them to call you."

I went in the direction she showed, but only found a disorganised collection of those carts they let you hire for an extortionate fee to haul your luggage around. After a while someone walked by who looked like he worked there, so I held up the yellow paper and asked where I was supposed to be. He started ranting in some language of which I have no understanding, so I just held up the paper and smiled. The cunt then proceeded to slap me up the back of the head, grab me by the shoulders and thrust me towards an unmarked door, jabbing his finger at it wildly. I went in.

Inside was a waiting room and a reception desk. I went to the reception desk and showed the woman the piece of yellow paper I had. Without pause she snapped at me, practically yelling "You will sit and wait until you are called for! There are others here who have been waiting much longer than you." Fair enough, I thought, and I took a seat.

With me in the waiting room was some old guy who looked Indian, a family of folks who looked like they were perhaps from some north-eastern European country, and some Mediterranean looking woman who was crying wildly. She was the first to be called to the desk... after about an hour.

They proceeded to tell her that they were not allowing her on the flight, which was to California to see her daughter was apparently dying of cancer and had mere weeks to live. She went fucking mental. She grabbed a handful of shit from the receptionists desk and threw it in her face, then slapped her. Then she proceeded to pick up a pair of chairs from the reception (they were in pairs, welded together, and looked pretty heavy) and threw them both at the receptionist, who was running into the room behind her yelling "security!"

Two men in light armour, carrying big ol' guns, came running out and pointed them at the woman's head. She shut up real quick. They escorted her away. The next hour comprised of the receptionist reorganising her shit.

By 10:50pm I was called in to speak to an immigration officer. I was led into a small office lit only by a lamp. I shit ye not, it was just like those old interrogation scenes in crappy films where they shine a light in the guy's eyes and bark a bunch of questions at him. The immigration officer had the bare bulb of his lamp right in my face, and he was yelling at me, accusing me of working illegally in the US. I managed to remain calm and rational, and explained to him a bunch of times that I was working for a British company over the internet and bringing British money into the US, which is a benefit to their economy. After 20 minutes of this silly little exchange he flipped the main light on and told me he was letting me into the country despite it being against protocol simply because I was one of the few that day who had remained calm and not lost composure. I shook the man's hand and proceeded on my way to find my luggage and see what the airline could do for me.

Upon exiting the waiting room and coming back into the big immigration area. It was much darker by now, and through the big windows at the end of the room that looked out over the runways I could see a rainstorm of epic proportions beating down on the land. I saw a woman wearing a uniform branded with my airline's logo, so I asked her what I could do. She said my flight had been delayed due to weather, and wasn't due for takeoff for another hour and a half. If I was quick I could make it, she said.

So I ran as fast as my weary body could carry me all the way to the luggage checking area. On the farthest belt I spotted the box containing my PC and monitor. I ran up there and snatched it up, along with my two cases. Now I had to carry all this lot (a big, heavy box, two heavy cases, and my hand luggage) about 300 yards through a crowd of disgruntled flyers to get it re-checked. I spotted one of those cart thingies and dragged my shit over. It was mounted on a rail that would only release it after it received $5. So I tried my debit card in the little slot... no luck. And I had no cash with me. I started dragging my shit by hand when I realised I had $5 in the zippy pocket of my backpack. I turned to go back and claim the cart, but some cunt got to it first. It was the very last one.

So I begin to drag my shit across the floor. I am very tired and very weary by now, and the 300 yard haul through the crowd felt like miles. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I get to the baggage checkpoint.

Then the cunts tell me my stuff is too heavy. "It obviously wasn't too heavy for the last flight!" I argue, but they demand that I drop two pounds and 4 ounces or my baggage will not be checked. I checked in my PC and one case, and went to work lightening up the other. From it I had to cram into my hand luggage a few pairs of jeans, a bunch of English chocolate (my wife's kids love English chocolate 'cause American chocolate is fucking horrible) and a bunch of CDs. After this haul, my case finally came in under the weight cap. However, my backpack now felt like a lead block on my back.

Which made the run to my gate a whole lotta fun.

If you've ever been to Washington Dulles, you'll know its a fucking labyrinth. Most of the screens and signs were giving me conflicting information as to where I needed to be. One small favour was that re-checking through security did not take long. But getting to my gate (which nobody told me would require jumping on a bus) was a nightmare. After a while someone told me where the bus was, and how many stops it would take to get to my gate.

I get there with mere minutes to spare, or so I thought.

Delayed.

My flight had been delayed again. It's now just before 1am and I am knackered. I sat down and waited.

I opened my eyes and everything seemed a bit different. FUCK! I had fallen asleep! How long was I out? I had no idea. I panicked and looked at the screens to find out if I'd missed my flight. It wasn't on there! SHIT! FUCKING CUNTYFUCK! COCKING FUCKETYSHIT! I am about to turn away and run to a representative when I see a blink out of the corner of my eye. More flights popped onto the screen... it was just updating. My flight was still in! Delayed 'til 3:15am. Thank cunt for that.

But I can't fall asleep again! What am I to do? I walked.

I did laps around the gate building. I don't know how many, but it was plenty. I'd occasionally talk to the people at the boarding desk, and they told me my flight was stuck in Toronto but would be here soon. I walked. And walked. And walked. For hours. Tired. Sleepy. Aching. Stinking of sweat.

Then I felt a funny feeling in my legs and my vision blurred. I collapsed.

Not only did I collapse, but I collapsed against the sharp shutters of one of those airport shops, grazing my face and cutting the side of my wrist. I came back to my senses as soon as my head hit the floor. From the floor I could see a rush of feet heading towards my boarding gate. Had my flight come in, finally?

I gathered my senses and made my way up there. The plane had indeed come in, but the woman at the desk informed us all over her little loudspeaker that they had the plane, but the crew had gone missing! FUCKERS! THEY LOST MY FUCKING CREW!

They vowed to find the missing pilot and crew, then boarding would begin.

At this point I was just pacing in a small circle near the desk, when a little kid, looking Indian or something (he looked like one of those little shoalin kids to me) tugged on my jacket. I turned to face him, and he was looking up at me smiling. His hand was outstretched towards me, and in it was a can of Red Bull. He jabbed it towards me twice, and I took it, then he grinned even wider, then run away, back to what I assumed were his parents.

That is without a doubt the most surreal moment of my entire fucking life.

I obviously drank the Red Bull, and its excessive caffeine did bring back to me some of my composure. Which was just as well, 'cause a few minutes after I finished it, my flight was cancelled.

There was a surge of people all running to the corner of the building to get in line at customer services. Owing to the caffeine I managed to get there before most, jumping lines of benches like hurdles where I had to.

I figured that since there were only 9 people infront of me (comprising three parties of people) it would take no time at all for them to resolve my situation.

Unfortunately it seems the cunts move fastest in airports. All three parties infront of me were comprised of total twunts who made a 10 minute affair of being booked onto a different flight into a half hour shouting ordeal that couldn't possibly achieve anything. I mean, these poor cunts are just customer services monkeys, what is the point in complaining to them? It's not like they have any fucking authority. So getting these fuckers out of the way took a grand total of one hour and fourteen minutes. Fucking cunty cunts.

Myself and some blonde girl I had ended up paired with in the line approached the desk next. We were both on our way to Minneapolis, and the girl said she could get us on a 7am flight to Chicago, which would then transfer to Minneapolis. She also offered us a hotel room each to stay in, which was a totally dickish gesture since it would take an hour to get to the hotel, then I would only have about 20 minutes sleep before I'd have to get up to get back through security. But I made them book the hotel room anyway, just to be a dick and cost them some money. My blonde companion did the same. By now I was crashing. The Red Bull was wearing off and I was swaying on my feet. I basically followed the blonde to my next gate. There was no way I coulda done it myself, so thank fuck for her. When I got to my gate at I had four hours before boarding time. When I got there they offered me a cold pop tart and a pillow. How nice of them.

This is when I ended up sleeping under the bench. Thankfully the airport people had provided an alarm clock on the desk nearby. I tried to sleep on top of the benches, but they were those concave arse shaped moulded plastic fucking things and were thoroughly uncomfortable. So I slept under them.

The alarm went off and I woke up feeling a little better, but completely unrested. I woke up my blonde companion, whose pretty young face had been transformed by bad sleep into something less than attractive. I told her she looked as bad as I felt. She wasn't amused.

By this time I smelled really bad. I'd been in the clothes I was in for over 24 hours. So I went into the airport bathroom to clean myself up. I'm not a shy person, so when I got in there, I unloaded a towel, a washcloth, some soap, a toothbrush and some toothpase, and proceeded to wash my whole body using the sink. Lots of people looked at me like I was walking through a school playground with my dick in my hand, but I didn't care, 'cause I had everything I needed to freshen up, including a fresh change of clothing.

One thing to note is, all through this I was out of contact with the woman who was picking me up in Minneapolis. The woman who would eventually be my wife. Turns out she had waited for me at the airport until night-time, where the airline had told her of the cancellation of my flight, and given her a hotel room.

My flight to Chicago went off without a hitch, and in Chicago my transfer went as smooth as silk, since my baggage was transferred automatically this time. I finally got to Minneapolis 25 hours later than I should have.

I haven't flown since.
( MarkyH feels like the H in Bob Hoskins' name, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 20:35, Reply)