I’m back with another entry for the November Writing Challenge. Just like yesterday’s, this one was provided by Tim, and it involves a dash through the airport. I’m reminded of Dublin Airport, so I went with that. I’m familiar with the airport, having visited a few times in recent years.
I’m definitely one for panicking about public transport and schedules. I had a lot of fun coming up with a narrative for this.
I had a set process when going to the airport. Exactly two hours before boarding I would check-in so that I would have plenty of time to manoeuvre the terminals. In my old age, I could never run like these strapping businessmen with their briefcases. In my set process, I always carefully mapped out what I would do and when so that I could board easily. I did this plenty of times, as a seasoned traveller – and I had the data to prove it. Some may call me insane, others mentioned neurotic. I call it being organised. Sue me, Karen! (Although it helped that I never had kids or a husband or wife to tow around with me to slow down the process).
My first roadblock came when a youth argued with staff about his aquarium tank at the baggage drop. Only two machines were open and he took up one of them arguing over something stupid. A woman in front of me with a stroller shouted at him to move along and let someone else use the machine. The youth spat in the direction of the woman, before shoving his way through the crowd waiting to check the luggage.
Thankfully, only a few people were in line before me, and I could feel eyes on me – I’d worn three hats on my head because they simply would not fit in any of my bags. Thankfully, they were not too large or cumbersome, albeit unorthodox. I finally approached the machine and weighed in the suitcase before tagging it to be sent to the conveyor belt. Once that was on its way, I headed towards security post-haste. And in natural airport fashion, the trip to security took a long time, too.
The lines for security were so long, and I kept glancing at my watch impatiently, doing the typical old-lady stereotype of tutting every three minutes, while muttering about how the youth of today have it all. Thankfully, after fifteen minutes of a slow queue, my hats, coat, handbag and shoes went through security without any issues.
The airport was long which was something that I always forgot when coming to Dublin. There were too many people crammed in the food court, and I could not get around a group of youths throwing berries at each other – and with no parental supervision! Aghast, I used my rolling bag to force my way through the crowd. I almost had a child dangling from it as the blighter clung on for dear life, the little whelp!
I was positive that I was running out of time! I even bypassed the Duty-Free (sorry Tullamore Dew whiskey, maybe next time!) and hurried straight to my gate, which was (to my absolute horror) was at the far end of the airport. Fearing that I would be left behind, I power-walked as fast as I could to that very gate. If only I was in my youth, I could have ran towards that gate as soon as I got off the Aircoach at the front of the airport.
I finally reached it! Gate 112 – right at the very end of the gates. I passed all of the bars and shops to get here on time! I looked up at the screen to double-check the boarding time.
LIS – Lisbon Airport: DELAYED UP TO TWO HOURS
Fuck. I’ll go back for that whiskey and some Butler’s chocolate. But first, a sit-down. I’m exhausted.