101 things we hate about airports
The airport is located an hour out of town, there are few public transport options, and only mafia-run taxis.
There’s a domestic airport and an international one, and they are on opposite sides of town.
Your flight is delayed by the wrong type of leaves/snow/wind/fog/baggage handlers.
You realise there’s more than one terminal, and you’re at the wrong one.
You make it on time, but your passport is in the hotel safe/still in a drawer at home.
When you arrive, it’s clear the World Championship queuing competition is in full swing.
Staff are so transfixed by the slowly shuffling queues, they have gone upstairs to watch them on CCTV.
The only people willing to listen to you complain are newly arrived television news crews, wanting to know how you feel about it all.
The person in front of you is holding up the queue with their embarrassing attempts to get an upgrade.
Or they are moving house, judging by the bulging bags they are attempting to check in.
And they then start to repack as they’ve exceeded the baggage limit.
Your own case is 1kg over the baggage limit and the airline charges a punitive tax for the error.
The signage for departures sends you into the multi-storey car park.
The escalators are broken, and travelators unheard of.
Or they are working, but people are using them as an effort-free way of exploring the airport.
You’re flying during the holiday season, and families have taken over.
You trip up on an abandoned Trunky.
There’s no fresh air, and nowhere to smoke.
The clinical lighting and the hard, cold floor.
Your mobile boarding pass is not recognised at the barrier so you have to go back to check-in.
The fast-track queue at security is no shorter than the regular one.
There is no fast-track security lane.
The security staff are sullen and bark orders at you.
You are forced to take off half your clothes before going through the scanner and you forgot your socks had holes in them, and your trousers fall down because you’ve taken your belt off.
You never know whether you are supposed to take your shoes off or your laptop out.
The security person’s rub-down is too intimate/not intimate enough.
You have to fit all your toiletries into a tiny plastic bag, decant your products into mini-bottles and leave your favourite scent at home.
You have to pay for the tiny plastic bag.
There is a mini tube of toothpaste from an old amenity kit nestling in the corner of your hand luggage that sets off the alarm.
The person in front of you has obviously never been on a plane before because they have no idea of the procedures and slow the whole process down.
Your bag is always the one that gets selected for a random check.
You accidentally left a knife, two pairs of pliers and Mace spray in your bag, and struggle to explain why.
You are hungry but decide to go through security first, only to find nothing but a vending machine selling stale peanuts when you get airside.
The duty-free is more expensive than the high street.
You have to dig around for your boarding pass every time you want to buy something.
There is nothing to buy your children except Smarties and oversized Toblerones so large they come with 50 per cent-off vouchers for diabetes treatment.
All airport bookshops have three-for-two deals but you only want one, two at a push. You buy three anyway, and then can’t fit them into your case.
You leave duty-free smelling of five different fragrances.
There is no departure screen in the restaurant.
The lounges are labelled A, B or C – not useful.
Your airline doesn’t have its own lounge and the one it shares looks like a hospital waiting room.
The lounge dragon isn’t breathing fire that day, which means you merely get bad breath.
There’s nothing left at the buffet.
Or the food is worse than what you’d find outside, but you eat it anyway because it’s there, then end up feeling ill for the remainder of your journey.
You have to pay for the poor quality alcohol.
There’s nowhere to sit so you have to share a table with a loud person on a conference call.
You get your laptop out to check your email, then discover you need a code to access the wifi, so you have to go back to the lounge dragon and make nice.
Having gone to the effort, the wifi is then painfully slow.
Someone has nabbed the last copy of Business Traveller magazine.
There’s one left, but then a power cut plunges you into darkness.
Anti-government protesters occupy the airport and specifically target businesstravellers.
Your gate doesn’t show until the last minute.
Or is changed at the last second to one on the other side of the airport.
The walk there is long enough for you to start to doubt you’ll make it in time, or at all.
The flight shows as closing unexpectedly early and, after rushing to the gate like a crazy person, you find nothing is happening and it was all just a ploy to get you there early.
Only old people get to enjoy chauffeur transfers to the gate in those golf cart-type vehicles.
You’ve just bought a bottle of water to take on to the plane, then come up against another security check before the gate, where staff promptly take it off you with a smile.
People rush to form a queue as soon as the airline staff arrive at the gate – even though there is allocated seating.
There is such a scrum that you can’t work out where the queue begins and ends, and no priority is given to premium travellers.
Boarding is delayed, so you really could have had another drink in the lounge, and nobody is telling you what is going on.
Click link to read the rest...
kaledo-art
stormborns
ellievsbear
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
titsay