You can never hate something more than airports. Okay I precise, on summer! For Chrissake it drives me crazy. We’re not going for another 9/11 anyhow. Mom is the first one to wake me up the day of the trip. Guess what? 3 hours before the departure. Result: We’re the first ones to inaugurate the airport.
Anyhow, let’s drop the case of moroccan airports, those are gentle. They even let you go in with bombs inside. Did I say that ? Nevermind.
Here I go then, I’m walking on that stupid Charles de Gaulles airport. No, I mean running. Actually once you get in there, you get lost. No wonder why the tickets are so expensive. They might have included the inconveniences in them. Worse, the staff is not there to lead you the right way, they’re designed to make things more and more complicated.
Okay the first thing you do, you get yourself registred. They’re not very welcoming, the french people. They just eye you with that suspicious look and hunch over there computers. Hell they’re quick. I’ve never had the opportunity to glance at their computer’s screen but I picture it being loads of diagrams and board statistics. Anyway, you get your tickets (wow, no more cardboards for that, i bet they’re doing that for global warming), you spend ten minutes looking at checking your seat and departure time, before the woman/man tells you to get off the way. You turn around, and the guy who was on the line behind you has strangely got his eye drawn away. Hell yeah, weren’t you just eye-asking the woman there to tell us to empty the path?
I mean yeah, hundreds of travelers and only 6 computers. Damn that’s what I call advanced technology. Ironically.
So yeah, you leave your suitcases there, no more than 23-25kg each, they give you silly labels to stick in them. Huray, we got a pink one this year. Very girly-looking. My brother didn’t want to carry that. Crap. That was just a goddam excuse. I ended up carrying most of the stuff we got into the airplane, so that Mr LightBones can look stylish.
What’s next? Another queue. I believe places like that are only made for queues. You never know when to walk, as you’re always waiting. You only run, because you spend so much time waiting that at last, you’ve only got 5 minutes left to catch your plane. Worst of all, you don’t even know which way to go. (The funny thing is that sometimes you find panels with contradictory directions but the same terminus. I think that’s designed so you can solve some quick equations mentally, or count until ten and see where it falls – they don’t lack in math stimulation).
So the queue is there, you spend almost an hour looking at each other. People play the where-is-that-faggot-from to kill time. Then, when it’s finally your turn, you have to throw the stuff you’re supposed to take with you to the plane, then take your shoes off. Lucky day for flip-flop lovers (but if you’ve been wearing the same socks for a week, you start worrying), take your bracelets off (I wore a hundred that day cause i couldn’t find room anymore in my bag).. Basically any jewelry (do they think I’m going to bury some nuclear weapon in my earrings?). Oh if you happen to be a girl, you get a special treatment. Body search. Especially if you’re wearing a squirt. They’re afraid you might have hidden anything in..well whatever you are wearing underneath.
All this sort of journey to knowing the structure of the girls’ body makes me thristy. Of course once you’re there, you shouldn’t drink anything from any external origin. The problem is, I usually have no drinks on me. The reserves I’ve been stocking for my trip…I end up eating them before even getting to the airport, most likely while watching a good film the day before.
At least there is the duty free shop where you can start spending your money earlier than expected. The thing is, they forget that if you ever happen to buy a vodka and you’ve got your lighter on (in case you’re a smoker), it’ll be suffisant to lit a fire. Sure it sounds like a rushed up, yet geeky way of making sophisticated bombs, but still they’re omitting this fact. I just hope no Taliban reads my post so my conscience remains pure. Still.
What next? Another queue. Believe me, that queue is just for leisure. I mean, I’m sure they just made it to scoff at travelers. Mainly people are from different countries so the staff likes to laugh their ass out, because of all the tediousness. So yeah, that’s when you hear a baby crying because they smell the plane. Hell, they smell the 9 hours there. What kind of mother is this to let her baby go on a 9 hour travel? I guess there is just no other way, but I don’t mind if MIT grad students are looking for another technology to help sort it out. Misery.
Some man glares at the mother and then the mother starts her criticism, in this I-imply-that-you’re-a-moron sort of way. Yeah, mothers are very sensitive when it comes to their baby children. I mean, if you’re ever caught glaring at them, sort of telling them that they’re not even able to control their own childs.. Uw, boy, I’m worried about you.
Anyhow, done with queues, we finally get to the entrance, and a make-up beautiful, yet corny women (supposed to be the stewardess), welcomes you with an ear-to-ear smile. They usually have that reddish lip stick that kinda freaks me out. You know, you can see the reflect of that on your shirt. Anyhow, it’s not like they’re going to kiss you all over. (Add up the soft, suave voice) « Hello! Welcome aboard 🙂 45B? That’s right over there honey! » « Hey, thank you very much! ». Crap. As if I don’t have a natural GPS within me. They’re even insinuating I’m illiterate. Indignant.
Well, I was lucky that day. My seat was in the very back of the plane. Good. No one will watch me sleeping. You know why? It happens that sometimes, i’m all deep concentrated on some kind of dream, then there is this hole where i suddenly fall, and my leg automatically simulates the fall, which causesa harsh awakening. Now that looks very odd, believe me. It’s a lucky thing that I don’t snore, but who knows if i ever drool all over the place.
The first thing I look forward to is to evaluate my field of vision, see if there is anyone worth scoffing at (for killing time), or someone to talk to. Unfortunately, there was no one at the first sight (except my brother sitting right next to me), but later there was this girl who didn’t stop watching films for 9hours non stop. Even when the plane landed she just started off another one, the Hangover if my memory serves me right, but I guess she’s just that kind of girl that loves to watch movies over and over again. I mean, who hasn’t watched the Hangover?.. Well it could be me..until recently. Anyway.
So what was I saying? Yes. The plane takes off (the pilot has to drive for a century before taking off, I think that might be some kind of new therapy for phobias, you know, lots of suspense and all). Everybody’s trembling for a couple of minutes before all the lights are switched off; a bunch of people immediately fall asleep, as if that’s what switching off lights means (« Sleep kiddos »), others attack their little TVs and browse available movies.
The funny thing in all is that sometimes someone is watching some R movie and then there is this sex scene. Suddenly the pilot has to say a word and so they gotta pause every TV. The guy was sitting in front of me and I sort of didn’t notice any kind of sign in his ear (i could only see his ear anyway), like going red or something. It stayed the same, that yellowish color. I mean maybe that’s due to the fact he was asian. To be honest, if I were his place, I’d turn red. That’s probably why I prefer sitting in the back. Yeah that’s right.
Anyway, few minutes later they bring in the food. Some crap I never eat anyway. I mean I never know what that consists of. But hell I haven’t even analyzed my food that this girl is wiping her mouth because she’s ALREADY done eating. Well you know, I don’t negociate people’s rythms. That’s also a lifestyle.
The one thing I kept thinking of during the whole trip is that i love moroccan food. I was really going to miss it for a couple of days.
By the time the plane lands, I’m always waiting for the first human specimen to clap hands. That’s my favorite part of the flight. But since no one does, I eventually take the initiative…but I end up being the only one to do so. Pitiful.
(The good thing about americans though is that they never care about what you’re doing, so I couldn’t care less).
Once you get to the airport again, you’re being searched every 10 meters. Boy, that’s the routine, you can do nothing about it.
The worst of it all is that you get to do the same thing for the return. But you know what? I spent a wonderful vacation in the US (didn’t stop me from being homesick, but mostly gastronomy-sick). And I’m glad I got back to Morocco now, thank God.