Thoughts on airport

Catching separate flights an hour apart, J and I hurried to the MARTA station this morning, only to find it running less frequent than usual. The train was the most crowded MARTA train I've ever been on. Nothing like a crowded NYC subway, mind you, but essentially full. Lots of huge people with big bags and bigger voices. Full-on pedestrian traffic jam to get on the stairs down, with people shoving and talking shit not quite under their voices. Christmas does bring out the best in people, doesn't it?

At the airport, J was cutting her flight a little close, while I have time to blog. By email, we agreed that elite status is worth every penny sometimes. It's a regular fucking freakshow at the airport. The south security line was fine. Of course the morons in green jackets were telling people bullshit about which lines had which waits, and claimed that both south and north had 15-20 minutes waits, while main was allegedly sub-10 minutes. Total bullshit, especially for elites: I could see a long line at main, which doesn't have an elite line, and my wait was about three minutes in the elite line at south (which they are actually enforcing today, a relatively rare occurrence.)

The underground walkway between terminals was fine, since most people preferred to sardine themselves into the inter-terminal train, but walking through the B terminal is like the Amazing Race.

Now in the Sky Club at B25, there are two enormous fat guys, apparently brothers ("Think mom is awake yet?") sitting a table one over. Brother #1 just can't shut his fucking mouth. Just keeps talking. About nothing. And saying "unbelievable" with a big gushing release of air sort of sigh. Brother #2 mostly wipes his Mr. Clean head, picks his nose, and ignores him. Brother #1 is making various phone calls to get a "general antibiotic" and discussing checking into the hospital. Totally unclear why.

Interestingly, while the other people on the MARTA and many other passengers in the airport are all a-tizzy (or just downright rude and obnoxious) the staff I've dealt with have all been cheery and happy, including some of the rentacop TSA agents.

California here i come (remember that song?)