Airport Buffoonery

Yesterday while trying to snivel a free ride on Southwest Airlines from Seattle to Salt Lake City, I committed interstate social faux paux's in Washington, and Utah. In Washington, I walked into the woman's bathroom. By mistake, mind you. But I did it... And the ladies inner sanctum was empty except for, well, me... How did I know it was the ladies bathroom? Well, I certainly didn't have a keen enough grasp of the obvious to notice the sign outside the entrance that showed a figure with a skirt, also labeled "Woman's." No, as I entered the usually noisy woman's bathroom I was unknowingly in the "red zone," airline talk for clueless. Since I heard no females laughing or screaming at me, I stupidly walked in anyway.

So, the intrepid aviator of 35 years looked around, and noticed there were no urinals hanging on the wall. Now, being the steely-eyed trained killer of enemies of the state that I am, and like a flying brick in the forehead, I realized I needed to retreat to the "yellow zone," which in the airline biz means Joe Bag 'O Donuts is coming out of his self-induced village idiot mode. As Sun Tzu recommends in "The Art of War," now is the time to retreat with honor. I sheepishly and slowly turned around and walked out like it was the most normal thing for a man to do. You know, like I was conducting a health and welfare inspection while it was empty. "Ok, ladies, it's safe to use..." Sheesh! No one noticed, as far as I know, and I'm back in the "green zone" again. What a nog... ;-)

Next, in the inland empire State of Utah, I disembarked (always wanted to use that word) Southwest's Boeing 737, stopped at Starbuck's and bought some caffeine free Passion Tea, at Starbuck's. Is it supposed to be an aphrodisiac? Just wondering.... Next, I swashbuckled my way through the concourse like Captain Kirk enters the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, and onto the escalator I go, like I have always successfully accomplished before. While walking through the concourse, I had noticed that no one had left a message to tell me that someone will pick me up. While riding the escalator, I received a communications from Hali (daughter number three, code named H3) that someone will be there shortly. That is where I cluelessly jumped head first into the "red."

As I looked at the text on my wonderful iPhone 4, I let go of my roller bag with it's shiny stainless steel handle fully extended, computer bag with a few flying books inside, my food bag, and my camera bag, all began tumbling rather noisily down the entire length of the escalator head over foot all the way down to the bottom. Ok, they didn't just tumble, my bags crashed their way down the escalator. Did anybody get hurt? No, I was the only one on the escalator. Did anyone notice? Believe it or not, no one else was within eyesight of my gross and clumsy escalator antics. Entering the "yellow," I picked my bags up, and rode the escalator up again for the second time in about 30-40 seconds. Damage to my cargo resulted in a few dents in my cans of sardines in mustard sauce. There were no claps of appreciation, no hoots, no hollers, no expletives shouted in anger, nor cries of pain and anguish as my 50 lbs of steel crashed into an innocent escalator rider below me. Ok, back in the "green," again. :-)

Smiling at myself, I thought, it was an overall good day... Maybe something for the yellow stickies?

Still crazy (and squeaky clean) after all these years. Well, sorta...

;-)

TC,
Michael

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