Airports

            
            
             There's a lot to be said about airports.
             When was the last time that you heard somebody say, "God, I just love going to airports. I could spend all day there. Flying is so fun." That's right, you've never heard that. And if you do happen to say that, I"d like you to wear bright pink pants so I know who you are. You never see a happy person at the airport, and if you do, it's someone who has just got off a plane and exiting the airport. NO exceptions.
             Saturday morning I had to go to the airport, or, as I like to call it, "Satan's ass-crack." I took the Airporter from the Petaluma fairgrounds to Oakland International, which is only a step above San Francisco. Since this trip was only going to be a twenty-four hour trip, I didn't bother taking anything with me. I could just buy everything I needed down there. Before I even walked in, I could smell that airport musk. You know what I"m talking about, it's kind of a combination of dead skin and sour milk. .
             I walked up to the counter to trade my e-ticket for an actual ticket so I could enter the gate area. And for those of you who don't know what an e-ticket is, then ask someone who knows because I don't feel like educating you. So after getting my Southwest ticket, which is fortunately a group A boarding pass, which means I"ll get on before anyone else. And now for my all time favorite procedure: security. I"m directed by some behemoth employee to go to line three. They inform me that I have to take off my shoes. They had told the guy in front of me to do the same, but I had just assumed that was because he looked like a terrorist. I guess not. Would someone get in trouble if they placed a dead rat in their bag? I mean, it's not threatening. They seemed concerned that I didn't have any bags. The security guard was missing three teeth. "Don't they pay these people a good salary?" I felt like buying a pack of chiclets and returning them to her as a temporary substitute.