I don’t like to travel, I just like to get there. I’m sooo not one of those people who say shit like, ‘it’s the journey, not the destination.’ The hell with that, it IS the destination, I did not spend 3,500 on a vacation to Barbados, to sit in a crowded airplane and listen to babies cry and my ear drums pop, nope, I didn’t.
But the strange thing is, I like airports. Weird right? Who the hell likes airports? Me. I like to stroll through the lame shops and consider buying corn on the cob magnets and weimaraner-dressed-as-people calendars. I love the magazine stand, and my favorite is looking at people. It’s kinda like going to the mall, only people carry luggage and have their comfy pants on. Oh, and a gentle observation about airports: a great majority of people are ugly–supremely ugly. Not just kind of ugly because they have been traveling all day–but pock marks, bad hair, big ass ugly. Is that mean? Well, the truth hurts people!
Funny story about airports: Last time Pat and I traveled, I hoisted my carry-on luggage up on the conveyor belt to have it x-rayed. There were two younger gentlemen working the machine and they stopped on my bag and stared extra long at the screen. Then they looked up at me, then back at the screen, then back at me, then back at the screen. They gave me this smirk, and one of them said quietly to the other (but not too quietly, because I heard him), “I know what THAT looks like.”
What? I thought to myself, what the frick do I have in my bag that looks questionable? My mind reeled through all my stuff in my bag: books, cosmetic bag, flip flops, head band, magazine…CURLING IRON! OMG they think it looks like a adult toy! HA! You guys are 12, get your heads out of the gutter. But, they kept smirking and giving me the eyebrow look as I walked away. And because the scrutiny was getting to me and making me extremely uncomfortable, I called out as I left– loudly, so everyone could hear, “IT”S A CURLING IRON!!”
And then security came over and asked me if there was a problem–turns out, the TSA doesn’t like it when you yell in the airport. My reply was simple, if you mistake my curling iron for a dildo, I might raise my voice.