or nearly. Today, first leg - full body scanner and all (and new signs saying that you can't travel with printer cartridges weighing more than 16 oz.) - ABQ to EWR, via a horrendous gallop through Chicago airport with them Paging My Name (the flight was late from Albuquerque; the so-called "valet" stowing of rollerboard suitcases - mandated since it was a small and bouncy plane - turned up in a large cage leaving a mass of cross late people to push and grab and fend for themselves). Why should it be so embarrassing to hear one's name called? It's not as though there were probably hordes of people in Chicago airport at that time who would recognise it, and even if there were one, or two - then, well, so what? They would surely think I had a very tight connection, not that I'd wilfully absconded into a Cinnabon. But this meant I was scarlet with embarrassment (let alone with traversing from one terminal to another at speed) by the time I skidded to a breathless halt in front of the desk. Then they re-opened the door, and quickly stowed me, and off the plane took.
Before this mini-drama, I did, though, have time to admire Albuquerque airport's own personal brand of kitchiness - putting a large miniature plane on top of one of their two Christmas trees - the other two being decorated with photographs of military personnel serving overseas ...
No comments:
Post a Comment