On Airports and Such

I think the God of Airports and Aircrafts has serious, unresolved issues with me. He likes to toy with me, and laugh with his huge airport tower for a body, and two aircrafts for hands.

I never manage to go to an airport without getting into a whole lot of fuss that involves curious people circling me, me retelling my issues with the people behind the counter, and them consoling me and offering unneeded advice.

The trip back to Dubai was no different, actually I think it was the highlight of my career of wreaking havoc in airports that includes blazing alarms on the level of whole international airports, attracting notorious FBI detectives, and last but not least emptying and refilling bags on the floors of Queen Alia airport.

I shit you not.

Airport Assistant: Go to counter 10
I go to counter 10
Guy behind Counter 10: Go to counter 13 or 14
I go to counter 14
After standing behind 3 bawling children tugging on their annoyed father’s shirt to show him a toy car for 15 minutes, they tell me this flight is heading to Abu Dhabi
Me: *@#&*@#
Me (to a cute missy standing in front of me): This is why I tell my parents I don’t want kids
Cute missy: Hehehe (brushing me off)
Me: You heading to Dubai?
CM: Yes
Me: Well, this isn’t the counter for it apparently.
After directing CM to the proper counter, I got her chatting
CM: What do you do?
Me: I'm a strip dancer, hehe.
CM (eyes widening): hehehe
Me: No I just say that so people will not dose off while I describe my job to them.
CM: Well, it's effective!
Me: Where you from?
CM: San Francisco
Me: And what the hell are you doing in Jordan?
CM: Hehe, my husband is Jordanian.
Me (to myself): Damn! I was planning on marrying you
She was such a sweetheart that I decided to help her with the baggage, otherwise the sweet married chick from San Francisco would never have made it onto that flight, neither would I.

Man behind counter (tearing off the tag): Your bag is overweight
Me: It’s only 6 kilos extra
Asshole: These are the regulations
I quickly pulled the bag, grabbed all the damn Jordanian sweets to be distributed needlessly around, and shoved in book and shoes with the sweets.

I hope the sweets don't smell of feet otherwise I'll be castrated and outcasted by my over-sensitive family.

I looked like Santa Clause carrying a presents bag around.

I ran to the passport control where the guy behind the counter was chatting to some other guy

I banged the counter twice to get his attention
Me (realizing the graveness of the situation I just got myself into) : Fuck man! Now you’re really gonna get it. You’re gonna sleep with the Iraqis in the pissy, claustrophobic room with smelly blankets for covers and shitty food.
Amazingly the dude was a nice guy and told me to not be anxious and I told him I will not until I get onto the damned flight. And when I get a plane to visit Jordan back.

Oh and by the way, the vacation was amazing. More to come soon.