Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Terrorists, foo-foo drinks
I hopped on a plane the other day, struggled through the obstacle course created by the narrow aisle/wide Americans combination and sat down. There was the inevitable pre-takeoff quiet, with many on the plane fidgeting nervously and eyeing each new passenger to walk onto the plane.
I have often joked that when the terrorists hit again they will come through Baton Rouge Metro Airport, as it is run by people from Baton Rouge, which means the images on the x-ray machines are probably just looped as the machine has no doubt been broken for months with no one able to fix it. As I sat there on the Metro Airport tarmac, fidgeting and eyeing my fellow passengers, I saw something out of a sketch comedy routine, except it was on my plane.
A man of Middle Eastern appearance, who seemed to be alone, was walking down the aisle intently scrutinizing and shuffling the five passports he had in his hands. He soon turned to the four family member he had in two, who were several passengers behind him, and started talking to them and I was sufficiently embarrassed for even noticing.
Then it was on to Houston, where I had a layover and went searching for coffee. Not surprisingly the search yielded only Starbucks, so no, I am sorry to report, there is no hidden gem of a coffee shop in George Bush International Airport. Right behind me in line were two officers wearing Department of Homeland Security Uniforms, which I suppose should have made me feel safer. However, there's something about a Homeland Security Officer charged with fighting suicidal terrorists ordering a "venti rasberries and creme" that makes me a little nervous about my next flight. I want the man who's job it is to stop me from being blown up to have to look up from his issues of Guns & Ammo to order a fucking coffee, black, and have to spit out his chewing tobacco to drink it.
I have often joked that when the terrorists hit again they will come through Baton Rouge Metro Airport, as it is run by people from Baton Rouge, which means the images on the x-ray machines are probably just looped as the machine has no doubt been broken for months with no one able to fix it. As I sat there on the Metro Airport tarmac, fidgeting and eyeing my fellow passengers, I saw something out of a sketch comedy routine, except it was on my plane.
A man of Middle Eastern appearance, who seemed to be alone, was walking down the aisle intently scrutinizing and shuffling the five passports he had in his hands. He soon turned to the four family member he had in two, who were several passengers behind him, and started talking to them and I was sufficiently embarrassed for even noticing.
Then it was on to Houston, where I had a layover and went searching for coffee. Not surprisingly the search yielded only Starbucks, so no, I am sorry to report, there is no hidden gem of a coffee shop in George Bush International Airport. Right behind me in line were two officers wearing Department of Homeland Security Uniforms, which I suppose should have made me feel safer. However, there's something about a Homeland Security Officer charged with fighting suicidal terrorists ordering a "venti rasberries and creme" that makes me a little nervous about my next flight. I want the man who's job it is to stop me from being blown up to have to look up from his issues of Guns & Ammo to order a fucking coffee, black, and have to spit out his chewing tobacco to drink it.
