Monday, March 28, 2016

first world problem on the weekend

I went away to visit friends this past weekend. On my return flight I was dropped off at the door, near security. Having checked in prior to arriving at the airport, I felt only a pinch of nerves when I saw how long the security line was. I showed the agent my phone with my ticket, they scanned it with that little machine that beeps. When they do this in Calgary, 9 times out of 10 it means I have to have my hands wiped with a little pad. Not this time. I stood patiently in the line, proud of my patience. I looked at Facebook on my phone. I felt calm. I noticed a family behind me, mother and father and three young children. I neared the front of the line, it had been about 25 minutes. But not to worry, I was early and there was lots of time. Suddenly the family kind of pushed around me. The mother had noticed a new security line open up and she raced her kids by me to get to it. This kind of thing drives me crazy. Same as when at a store a new cashier comes on and opens a till and instead of saying "I'll help the NEXT person in line" they either say nothing at all, or say "can I help you here?" and then people cheat and run over even though they darn well know they aren't next. So this mother, instead of saying to me, the only person in front of her, after you, of course pretends that it's all fine and dandy and teaches her children very bad manners. I made a sort of annoyed face, and the dad saw it and understood immediately and he's all, here, you go next, and I said no, no, that's fine, because really I didn't want to be standing next to them for the next 10 minutes after I made a mad face that he saw.

So I wait, for my little line of 4 or 5 people in front of me, placing their items in the grey bins and figuring out how to line them up so they will fit through the x-ray machine, and taking off their belts and shoes, and I watch and wait and I notice that the family is still going through, it's taking a while, and I think, ha, good thing I didn't go to their line and it's my turn and I realize I didn't drop my bag off at check in, as a matter of fact I didn't check in at all, and my bag is literally the largest suitcase we have in our house because the medium one that I really liked broke and I haven't replaced it and I didn't want to bring the small one because it doesn't fit my hair dryer AND my boots. And holy cripes I have to turn around and do the walk of shame all the way BACKWARDS through the now excruciatingly long line and I have to snake through people who are perhaps not at their best, and not wanting to squeeze over so I can drag my mammoth bag past them.

And I run to the WestJet counter, well, that's a lie, I walked as fast as I could with this stupid knee, and I went to the first little machine where you punch everything in and it was out of service and the next one wouldn't work so I finally got someone to help me and we got the bag dropped and I had to go back and start over.

Luckily now I had missed the insane rush of people, those who were on time for their flights as opposed to me, who was now late-ish, so the line had maybe 15 people in it, nothing really, whew, and the man in front of me, standing there patiently, was the dad from the family who had budded. And he's like, what are you doing here? And I'm also like, what are you doing here? And he says, well, apparently my son packed a five inch knife in his carry on, and we obviously weren't aware of this. And I explain the walk of shame, and the dragging of the bag back to where it should have gone originally. And we end up having a very nice conversation about vacations and families and I forgive him for his wife's poor judgement earlier (I keep this part to myself).

I made my flight but instead of a big juicy burger, which I was dying for, I settled for a particularly terrible ham sandwich and a tin of Pringles. I ate the Pringles on the plane, next to a one year old baby girl seated on her mother's lap who also, oddly enough, had her own can of Pringles. Same flavour, even. I haven't bought Pringles in probably 5 years so that was kind of funny. I don't think her mother thought it was funny, though, that I ate mine as then the baby immediately understood that somehow this can could OPEN and there was FOOD inside. I felt sort of bad until the baby kept jamming her small baby foot into my side and I wondered inside my head, why, if the mom wanted to hold the baby for the whole flight, she didn't sit by the window and the dad sit in the middle, so the baby was only bothering the two of them and not the person who was getting away from her own small people. But I only wondered this a little bit, barely worth mentioning, because this is such a first world problem. And thank god most of my problems are first world problems.

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