Yeah, I got kinda mouthy with the security cow. I admit it, but I can explain!
After 8 hours squeezed in a seat too small for a sardine can, waddling through customs with an passport guy who was slower than hell and older than the mummies we saw at the British museum. We made way baggage claim.
Then it was the tiring task of trying to find on of the advertised carts, getting the bags off the crowded carousel, then walking 30 feet the end of the concourse and being told we can’t have our bags just yet since the international flight gates and baggage claim are behind the metal detectors, and we had to to RECHECK THEM. They would “be at the baggage claim at the main concourse before you get there”. Oh that’s making me feel alot better.
So, now the twenty minutes we spent trying to find a baggage cart, and load it, was in vain. They weren’t allowed past this point.
We throw our just acquired bags on the same ‘recheck’ belt system with the other people on our flight who were connecting to other flights, (two lines – local and connecting – but the same belt – like that makes sense) ensuring a high probability we’d hear our luggage would end up in Anchorage without a trace.
We proceed towards the main baggage check a mile (and a useless tram) away, but first have to nagivate the Tensor ribbon maze 20 feet away – to pass through another metal detector, the main one for the airport.
They stood directly in front of you so you couldn’t walk through unguarded. And you were not allowed to walk through until given the “wave”.
It went off. Of course.
What set off the metal detector alarm to warrant the sch? No idea, didn’t go off at Gatwick and god knows their security is better and has been for decades. (They didn’t even make me remove my laptop out of the bag, or start it up, for the xray line there.) I was wing no metal, even had a plastic zipper on my stretchy skirt. Must be those alien implants. Yup.
They guy after me got set off too, he was steaming, he was already late for his re-scheduled conneeting flight.
Our plane had been 2 hours late arriving at Gatwick, so before we could leave it had to be refueled and such first, adding more time. Most of the other passengers were connecting elsewhere and had already been rescheduled on other flights. This guy was missing the one they had rescheduled for him. Now he set off the alarms, and like me he was exhausted, cranky and incensed. he looked at me and shook his head, “I’ve never been to this place before. They dont deserve to land international flights here period, this is insane. This is the worst airport I’ve ever seen. They dont have a clue hwo to do this.” I agreed whole htedly. Blind retard monkeys had obviously gotten to plan the international arrivals routine. It made that little sense.
The jumbotron security matron approached me like I was felon in cell block D. She held this long tapered scanner that looked like a giant version of those trigger candle lighters. I said “I hope that’s not going where it looks like it goes.” She was not amused and growled back “WHAT?” with that tone that said if you say one more word you’ll be in shackles and beaten like a two bit whore. How dare I speak to her indeed.
“Oh god, just get it over with.” I growled standing there, arms thrown out like I was being crucified. She made me sit and they scanned my shoes and my COMPLETELY BARE calves (I was wing a skirt and no hose) and even took that wand up my skirt a bit. They made me stand on the little feet on a mat, (as if I was too stupid to know to stand with my legs spread) and did it again.
Then, and I sw I am not making this up. She tweaked my boobs, sw to god. Took fingers and lifted them! She felt the underwires in my bra (plastic), and reached around to feel the closures on the back – all while sneering with complete detest at me like I was a cow for slaughter. (I don?t recall there ever being one single female hijacker, ever)N And I’m not even going anywhere but to the parking lot to go home. I’m not connecting to another flight. I’m DONE. I have to do all this just have to get out of their stinking airport!
All this groping was out in the open, no screens no nothing. I was getting felt up in front of 200 complete strangers. I was a bit more than angry, cranky and humiliated, and when that happens I get even mouthier.
I was about ready to raise my shirt over my head and let them see ‘the girls’ since she was showing so much interest in them and just get it over with. But, I knew I’d get a world of pain from it so I just went “Ooooh, you’re good! Call me.” with a snotty sneer. And walked off. Grrr!
We went to the completely useless tram to baggage claim. (I think it goes a few hundred yards) A few moving walkways would have been much simpler if you ask me. We did actually find our luggage at baggage claim #2 of the evening. And for the first time in the airport, someting nice happened – our shuttle to the distant parking lot service was RIGHT out front. I almost kissed the driver. Ten minutes later we were driving home.
All my future international flights will be out of Columbus. CVG sucks donkey butt.
Coffee, Tea, or Should We Feel Your Pregnant Wife’s Breasts Before Throwing You in a Cell at the Airport and Then Lying About Why We Put You There? though, beats anything that happened to me, but knowing my temper, it’ll happen someday. Yup, I’m convinced.