Let's be the airport!

I'm the white phone - NOT the red phone - the WHITE phone.

I'm the differently-abled passenger speeding by you.

I'm a bitchy male flight attendant waiting for my next flight.

Oops -- meant to add a pic at r3!

You’re cute, R3/R4.

I’m the TSA agent who secretly looks at your package when you go through the machine.

I'm O.J. Simpson walking by Hertz, remembering better days.

I'm a Bloody Mary in the Sky Club Lounge

I’m a passenger’s emotional support pitbull terrier, here to take care of that obnoxious crying baby for you. They call me a “service animal” for a reason!

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

I'm the fake service dog primed to sit on my owner's lap all through the flight instead of in my carrier and under the seat where I belong.

I'm a crazy Asian woman, having a tantrum because I missed my flight.

I'm the sweet old lady stowaway, complaining about garlic in the salad dressing which gives senior citizens gas.

I'm Larry Craig's wide stance.

I’m the frau in the A boarding line at Southwest. I want to know your boarding number! I think you’re lying! Show me your ticket!

I'm the techno music-blaring kiosk, cable news-screaming TV screen, or loud music playlist pumping out of every shop and bar. There's one of me every ten feet in any direction you try to walk. Don't bother to try and escape because you feel you're being driven insane from the relentless cacophony.

I'm Philadelphia International Airport. I suck majorly. The people who run the airport seem to think if I have a lot of shopping and dining venues, people will forget the fact the airlines have had to ad 30 to 60 minutes to flight times due my backed up and congested runways and taxiways.

As if anyone goes to an airport to shop and dine.

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

I'm the Las Vegas airport where departing flights sit on the runway for an hour while all the incoming flights with passengers with lots of money come in, leaving the broke passengers on the departing flight to sit there in frustration for an hour.

I'm Teterboro. I have no idea what all of these frustrations you are talking about are.

I'm the newsstand offering magazines of sports, business, puzzles, and lifestyles, tourist/souvenir keychains, sweatshirts, T-shirts, flying discs, and other knickknacks. The going prices here for snacks and sugary beverages make convenience stores seem like bargains. I also offer pajama socks and neck pillows.

I'm the fraus in the TSA pre-check line who can't simply set their bag on the x-ray machine conveyor belt and in turn cause the line to move more slowly than the regular screening lines.

I'm the entitled douche with the oversized roller bag. Even though they announced all overhead space has been taken, I refuse to gate-check my bag because surely some space will open up for ME. And yeah, I don't care that I'll have to drag my bag from the back of the plane back up to door, disrupting boarding and causing the plane to take off late.

I'm the emotional support ostrich onboard the aircraft. Don't you DARE question how this was even allowed.

I’m the person with a job wondering why cattle are at a southwest gate.

I'm the Lifetime Platinum that gets [italic]bupkis[/italic], now, because I'm not spending so much money anymore.

I'm supposed to value seating near the front of the plane, the coach part of the plane. I don't.

I'm Meghan Markle, airport lounges are for you losers so I avoid them. I fly on my new bestie Amal Clooney's private jet. I'm a big environmentalist too just so you know,

I'm the PA announcer at every airport with a foreign accent so heavy that no one can understand.

I'm a Proud Mommy Frau who will shame you on Facebook for having the nerve to huff in the vicinity of my precious child. I'm a role model to traveling fraus everywhere.

I'm yet another not-so-thinly veiled female bashing thread. The misogyny coursing through this board will cause me to fill up rapidly.

R29 Women like that is why I no longer fly. There are more wretched female passengers than male.

I’m the traveler who forked out for Global Entry and breezes past the rest of you bitches at customs.

I'm the guy who is going to make the flight attendants wipe my ass!

R13 No paying job is worth that crap! Reminds me of this.

R34 meant as response to R33

I'm Trevor Ayliss, the gay British flight attendant, getting ready to put you in your rightful class on Class Airlines.

I'm the flight attendant doing the safety demonstrations. I look like I'm over it, yet I secretly LOVE the attention.

I'm a foreign exchange kiosk. I turn away your business by telling you where my competitor with a better rate is because I am afraid you will try to do business with me in a language I don't understand.

I'm a witness to the clearly not disabled guy sitting on a disabled toilet in cargo shorts, no shirt and a straw fedora at Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne who told everyone to fuck off when some kid pushed the door open because he hadn't locked the door. And then the idiot had someone else walk in on him because he failed to lock the door after the first intrusion!

I'm a security officer monitoring the screener for carry-ons. I will ask you about your bag, I don't care about the human remains you have in there but that electronic asset tag on the library book has me curious and I want answers.

R40 I'm the security officer checking out a box inside a male passenger's suitcase and discovering that it contained his late grandmother's jewelry. I'm so overcome with laughter and embarrassment that I provide the passenger with free drink vouchers.

I am the wet fart liquid slowly being absorbed and disguised ; by the blue, pink,brown crusty fabric , permeating your assigned 💺

I'm the cunt who always, always goes to the front of the line and ignores any and all calls for her to go to her rightful spot.

I am important, and I get to be first, always.

I'm the hipster carrying my $400 guitar in its $800 flight case through the airport desperately hoping someone will mistake me for a professional musician.

In about 15 minutes I'll pitch a fit when they try to gate check it instead of letting me stow it in the overhead.

I'm the gaggle of gate lice at the head elite boarding area who mostly are lowest tier, but don't obviously make way for other higher-tier and first-class passengers as those are called for boarding.

I'm the Customer of Size.

The photo in r46 makes me sad

I'm the married, Christian U.S. representative tapping my foot in a men's room stall.

I’m the smoker terrariums full of gloomy-looking people puffing away.

I'm the loop of yarn tied around the handle of the black checked bag, in order to differentiate it from the dozens of other black checked bags with yarn on the handles.

I am a social media influencer trying to find the best pose to go with my airport hashtags. I am also a humble brag post.

I'm the 5 year old dragging my suitcase through the airport so my parents can hold their coffee and check their phones.

I'm the kid who ends up on a flight to New York, left behind by his parents who are heading to Florida. Nobody even double-checked to make sure that I was on The Right Flight.

I'm the drug smuggler doing one last job before I go straight. I have $500,000 worth of cocaine shoved up my ass.

Ha ha, I worked at an airport and am playing with true stories.

I'm the passenger who didn't realize that wine is a liquid.

I'm the chef who didn't realize that I couldn't take my cooking knives on board and refused to surrender them to security and ran outside to hide them in the bushes (it's a small airport).

I'm the idiot who sat in the outdoor restaurant lounge patio drinking and when I saw my plain loading I tried to jump the security fence to get to it. Arrested!

I'm the dufus who hid my pocket knife on top of a vending machine.

I'm the lady who lay on the floor and wailed after I missed my flight.

I'm the poor sucker who missed my flight and ran around shouting like a crazy man before tripping and hitting my head and bleeding all over the carpet.

I'm the passenger who didn't know that whiskey is a liquid. A gallon of whiskey. Surrendered!

I'm the passenger who left the secure area during a layover and looked around at the small terminal in the countryside and asked if I was at LAX.

I'm the many neon/fancy "Cocktails" signs in the airports -

[quote] I'm the idiot who sat in the outdoor restaurant lounge patio drinking and when I saw my plain loading I tried to jump the security fence to get to it. Arrested!

You must also be the airplane worker who didn't know how to spell "plane."

“Smoker terrariums”! Thanks for making me laugh out loud, r49.

I'm the luggage carousel laughing at all the people who run off the plane only to end up waiting forever for their luggage.

Brilliant stories R55! I want to hear more.

R57 OMG - and I was the publicist for the airport. God damn, a mistake like that never made it to print.

Where are my proof readers when I need them! DL is a hard and cruel place!

Hey, one of y'all forgot something.

I’m the elder passenger, thinking how wonderful flying was back in the 60’s and 70’s, compared to now, when every single amenity costs extra.

I'm the overweight fraus from Des Moines who get on the moving walkway and stand right in the middle so no one can walk by us on either the right or left.

Thanks R60, I could write volumes, much of it about the sociopaths I worked with and other eccentric characters found at small airports with a lot of general aviation traffic (flights other than commercial. Flight schools, cargo, etc).

I knew a woman who worked many years as a flight attendant. She said that airline people thought airport people were crazy. It's true. So many people with delusions of grandeur who couldn't cut it as pilots and dare devils with little personal planes zipping about and, coming into the office to gossip. It was a lot of fun.

Here's a few more:

I am the wife a man with a small plane parked in a rental hangar at the airport. I thought it would be fun to jog along the runway. Wrong! Arrested!

I'm the angry lesbian who had a few flying lessons then got into a bad fight with my girlfriend and stole her plane before flying for a few hours and crash landing in a cornfield. Luckily I wasn't hurt and the plane wasn't too badly damaged. Arrested!

I'm the nearby neighbor to the airport who calls to report that chem trails are poisoning me and to please call the tower to re-route landing patterns. I duly did and they laughed and asked about the guy's tinfoil hat.

I'm the TSA fondling your underwear in the name of national security.

I'm the lonely international Customs agents who 'randomly select' the Hawt passengers' luggage to frisk and rummage through upon their arrival in line.

I'm Little José Gonzales, and I just flew in from Guatamala, hiding in the wheel well. Next I'll be in an old man's casket, heading for Cape Cod.

God, I love this country !

I'm the gate agent trying to get each passenger to hold his or her phone at exactly the right angle for the machine to read the mobile boarding pass.

"No, lift it up just a little bit ... hold it flat ... no, FLAT ... "

That fat old TSA agent man made me take my sandals off, and tried to lick my feet.

Keep 'em coming R55/ 65. Jogging along the runway made me LOL

I'm Brie Larson, basically being raped at every airport because I'm so talented and beautiful.

I'm the unsavory piece of shit barely disguised as food that's going to be dutifully served to the unsuspecting passengers, not before I'm reheated within an inch of my life of course.

I'm Air Traffic Control at every commercial East Coast airport north of D.C. and close to the ocean. I will wantonly shut down air traffic along the entire eastern seaboard if the wind is blowing more than 10mph, and I'm the sole reason why NYC's three airports have the worst on-time departure rates of any U.S. airport. I'm the reason the acronym "ATC" triggers every frequent flier in the Tri-State area.

I'm the taxi queue. I have cabbies waiting in my line for HOURS to pick up arriving passengers, only to see them drive off with one of those two new whores on the scene: Uber and Lyft. I don't understand why THEY don't have to wait in line with all the other taxis! I am ANGRY that they get such SPECIAL treatment, only because taxi service is terrible!

I'm the frauen manning each airline lounge. I love nothing more than informing entitled fucks traveling in first that no, they DON'T get to go inside unless they're already a paying member!

I'm the free wi-fi, laughing at all the idiots who log on without realizing that the NSA uses me to open up back doors to every laptop and iPhone in America!

I'm Vegetable Lasagna.

I'm the crown jewel of NYC ...................... LaGuardia

I am the guy at the bar who is half in the bag already, even though it’s 8 AM.

I'm the annoying business woman sitting at the gate while talking loudly on her phone and barking orders at her underlings. I am oh, so impressed with myself and want to make sure everyone around me thinks I'm impressive, too.

I'm the Premiere Global Services 1K customer who queues up at boarding lane #1 a full 30 minutes before boarding is announced because I absolutely, positively must be the first person on the plane. Fuck all the rest of you peons!

I’m an elderly private pilot in a small plane. I hope I land on the correct runway and not a taxiway.

I'm the Millennial who takes up all the charging stations and outlets for all my devices even though everything is at 100%. You expect me to use one power port for my laptop and then plug my other devices into my Mac? Get real, dude.

I'm mean, really, if I unplug and let you charge your completely dead phone, even for 5 minutes, my battery may drop to 95% and that would really stress me out.

I'm the self-serve tablet where you now order your food and drinks. I've now erased the last vestige of pleasant human contact you'll have at an airport.

I'm a Cat Cora or Guy Fieri glorified overpriced mediocre burger and sandwich shack that just opened at the main terminal. I'm a part of the airport's attempt to offer "fine dining" options.

I'm the passenger who is in boarding class E. Even though they have only called classes A and B, other E's and I are blocking the tunnel to the plane.

I'm the $14 tap beer at the generically named airport food and drink establishment, something like "Boulevard Grille" or "American Tavern."

I’m Wetzel, the cheese and jalapeño-encrusted pretzel, sought by hungry layoverstanians and dreaded by their fellow passengers, especially those seated near the toilets. FEAR ME.

I'm the $10 donut.

I'm the perpetually long line at the Dunkin Donuts in Logan.

I'm the 2019 incarnation of CBGB, as a restaurant in Newark's Terminal C. My waitstaff keeps the punk spirit alive by radiating anger toward my deplorable guests.

I am the wealthy blonde woman that demands a lot of attention b/c I'm some rich corporate guy's wife.

I am flying from my summer home in New York to LA or vice-versa . I'm dressed in Prada and Chanel. My bags are all Coach. I need you all to recognize my status by my posture, expensive things , and the pointed, condescending tone I take when I address everyone. I pray none of you realize the only thing cheap about me is my hair color.

My dog that I am bringing on the flight in a Louis Vuitton carrier IS MY LIFE!!!! I didn't know about some silly rule, so we need to make arrangements to protect my baby. I don't care if all of you have to wait 40 minutes to rebook your flights that leave in 1 hour, my Mitzy IS !!! my baby . You would all do the same for your babies and you know it.

I am the Delta terminal at LAX. Hope you had all your shots!

lol r94 ...

In the third bathroom stall, I'm the lonely crumpled up pile of cum crusted toilet paper with an insulin syringe stabbed through it.

I'm the opening theme by Alfred Newman.

I'm Maureen Stapleton, giving the performance of a lifetime, and I lose the Oscar to the little old lady who complained about salad dressing that gave her gas.

I'm the view of Manhattan you see from JFK which must be on some alternate universe in "Home Alone II".

I'm the bookstore where people just come into to peruse and look smart but never buy anything.

I'm a passenger who needs a wheelchair in the airport. I can walk and stand, but not for long. I'll be wheeled to the wrong gate and left there for hours upon hours, despite my anxious calls and tweets for assistance. Employees will come by, I'll flag them down for help, which they'll promise to send, but they never do.

[quote]I am a social media influencer trying to find the best pose to go with my airport hashtags. I am also a humble brag post.

I forgot to sign my name. I'm Tommi DiDario, husband of Internationally Famous ABC News Star Gio Benitez!

I'm the 45 year old Latina woman traveling with my teenage daughter. I am wearing a skimpy one piece bathing suit under my skinny jeans with stilettos for a 10 pm flight. Everyone thinks my daughter and I are sisters!

I'm the unsuspecting passenger changing planes and needing to get from gate A46 to gate C34. It can't be that long of a walk, right? That why then don't have moving sidewalks.

I'm the last stall at the end, in the men's room. I am clogged and overflowing with human excrement and effluvium. I will not be cleaned for about 48 hours.

I’m the banks of wheelchairs at JFK waiting for the passengers on the flight to Miami, who will all miraculously regain their ability to walk as they stampede for the exit on landing at the other end.

I'm Auntie Anne's, and I only get customers when every other concessionaire has lines around the terminal.

How I stay in business is a mystery.

I am the patterned carpet that will provide hours of visual entertainment as you gaze at the floor during an especially long layover.

I'm a moose that's late for my flight.

I'm the guy peeking at your dick in the men's room...and you're peeking at mine. Thank Jesus there are no urinal dividers. I hate those boner-killing motherfuckers.

I’m the airport WiFi that blocks “adult content.” This means you, DL.

I’m the expensive long term parking space that makes you wish you took public transportation.

I'm the TSA agent who sits right by the doors to baggage claim making sure no one reenters.

I never look happy.

I'm the clickety clackety click click clack sound the gate agent makes as she types away with lightning speed on her keyboard behind the counter.

I'm the millennials traveling in yoga pants.

I'm a frau in stretch pants, smiling beatifically while 5-year old Kaydn shoves his way to the front of the luggage carousel. He can't possibly lift the bag, but it's totes adorbs how he wants to help Mommy. I'm sure that everyone else thinks the same, even when he puts his grubby paws on every bag that comes around and gets in the way of other passengers trying to retrieve their bags. EVERYTHING is about US!!

I'm the nasty bathroom floor I have to set my bag on while I use the urinal. My bacteria and viruses will stay on the bag as it is placed on seats, floors, overhead compartments, etc.

Bathroom remodels are completed every year, but no one designs a hygenic spot for the bags. My contagion continues unabated.

I'm the Delta representative paging passenger Zhaoxi Liu, and totally butchering poor Zhaoxi's name.

I'm the duty-free shops!

I’m the family/handicap bathroom. The one with one toilet, a sink, a bench. I’m used by the guy that wants privacy so he can scope on guys at the airpoint on Grindr.

I'm the airport's exhibits coordinator. This month we'll be featuring crochet covers for toilet paper made by our creative local population. We want to educate the public about the delightful people who live in our region.

I am the person who will come and stand directly in front of someone who has been patiently waiting at the luggage carousel, behind the yellow line.

I am invariably a mainland Chinese tourist.

Are you Zhaoxi Liu of r118, r122?

I'm the infrequent flyer in the Southwest boarding queue who has no idea how sequential numbers work.

I bought one of those front seats on a Spirit flight from Cleveland to Las Vegas for an extra $70. Out of my way; I’m a big fucking deal.

I'm the 300 lb passenger waiting to get on the plane. Everyone is eyeing me and praying that they won't get stuck sitting next to me.

I am about a dozen of the more entitled passengers on the same flight who are strategizing about what tactic they'll use to get their seat changed if fattie winds up next to them

I'm the $5 bottles of SmartWater in the Hudson gift shop

I'm the automated ordering tablets and self check-out screens at United Terminal C in EWR that 90% of the passengers can't ever figure out how to use.

I'm a brown-skinned passenger from somewhere in the developing world. The gate agent and five helpful multilingual passengers have spent the past 15 minutes trying to figure out what language I am speaking. Right now they are showing me their passports in the hopes that I'll produce mine.

I'm the people in Boarding Group 1 that began lining up an hour before the flight actually boards

I'm Boarding Group 1. Half the people on the plane are in me.

I'm the frau-beaten husbro drinking as much beer as I can find before takeoff. She insisted we take Braydn and Maydsn to Disney World.

Some of them skinny Asian flight attendants here in the terminal are hottttt...

On board, I'm hoping I see some hot fake boobs big enough to be flotation devices.

I'm the person who doesn't realize that my goddamn name should be on my luggage, so I stand at the check-in desk filling out a flimsy string tag with a ballpoint pen before the agent will let me check my bag.

I'm the group of lobster red Brits at MIA waiting to board their return flight.

I’m the 21 year old girl in pajama pants carrying my huge pillow - I’m not sure if it’s for sleeping or is a substitute teddy bear/emotional support that draws attention to my fragile state.

Even though it is 10AM, we (the lobster red Brits at R129) are on our fifth pint of beer.

We are the senior citizens whose kids insisted they get TSA Pre. We are completely baffled by the whole system and keep taking off our shoes and coats and belts and stare blankly at the TSA agents who tell us to put them back on.

I am, R123. I can hear the announcement about me but my focus is on dragging my massive faux LV bag across your unsuspecting toes.

We are the elderly couple from R132

Having made it to our gate, we are now having a headphone-free Facetime conversation with Brayden and Jayden to tell them that Gram and Poppy are at the airport and will see them "when the big hand is on the three and the little hand is on the one!"

I'm a broken jetway. Because I'm being repaired, I don't have to suffer with fat people stomping on me.

I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time.

We're the parents of infant Madysen and toddler Colten. We make a huge production of everything. We will do everything in our power to let everyone on the plane know that we are PARENTS!!!! and that traveling with kiddos is hard. In case anyone missed the fact that we have children, one of us will walk Colten up and down the aisles several times.

I'm a nicely dressed passenger in first class.

I'm also black.

The minute I take my first class seat - the one I paid for with my own miles and own money - every third passenger who walks past me will helpfully offer to guide me to coach, where my seat must actually be, because....well, you know.

I have to practice my Vaseline smile and find one hundred ways to not scream FUCK YOU, YOU RACIST, NOSY PIECES OF SHIT! at the top of my lungs.

I fly several times a month and have never seen that happen R137

Though, in your defense, I have seen the person sitting next to the black passenger in first class give them the side eye, reconfirm that the open seat is indeed "2C" (a none too subtle way of checking to see that the aforementioned POC is indeed in the right seat) and then take their valuables (laptop, tablet, etc.) look at the POC and place them in the seat pocket rather than in the overhead.

r137 must be flying Air Afrikaans

R138 I'm as white as Casper the friendly ghost's ass, but I have friends that's happened to and I've also read about it, too. Luvvie Ayaji the author has had it happened to her quite a few times.

Saw it myself on a flight. Three people whispered it to the flight attendant. And those old fuckers were all in coach!

I'm a group of Irish gals waiting to board a Ryanair flight to Malaga at 10am at the Dublin airport, and we're already quite hammered when the flight is called, leaving behind us 20 or so emty or half empty bottles of beer at the airport pub. One of us will return a moment later to get a half empty bottle left behind and put it in her handbag.

For R117, I’m the suitcase-sized wall alcove shelf in each bathroom stall at John Glenn International Airport.

I'm the Jeni's ice cream machine

This thread has suddenly gotten very Columbus-centric.

R145—Is that the support animal's support animal?

I am the young mother, loathe to spread out my baby in those tiny germ-infested filthy toilets, who changed his diaper on the seat next to me (hubby obligingly vacated for me).

I regret exposing the surrounding passengers to the ungodly stank but who among us wasn't once a baby?

At least he didn't projectile vomit on anyone. I have a trick where I squeeze his belly and he spews forth. I only use it on really rude people. Kick my seat and I'll hold up baby to say hello then give him a squeeze.

I’m the TSA agent who, in response to the traveler who accidentally left a water bottle in their bag (horrors!) and is now all the way through security, uses this opportunity to lecture and berate new passengers who are putting their bags on the x-ray machine conveyer belt and looking quite puzzled.

I'm CNN. I'm on the TV monitors in every terminal.

I'm HGTV

I'm replacing CNN on many TV monitors because the news in general has become so distressing and controversial.

The Property Brothers put everyone at ease.

I'm the Delta representative.

I'm still paging passenger Zhaoxi Liu.

I'm the experienced and, frankly, entitled passenger who waits in the airline club lounge until the self-loading freight have processed themselves into their various tiny seats in the center and rear of the aircraft. If necessary (for vacations, mostly), my three well-worn, full-sized, non-wheeled, hard-sided Hartmann bags will have been lifted from the car by the skycap at curbside, tagged for special handling, wrapped in clear plastic after TSA inspection, and deposited in the hold before I board, but when I'm working, all I usually take is a rollaboard and a carry bag full of reading.

A airline staffer from the lounge will walk me to the gate two or three minutes before the cabin door is closed. The lead FA at the door will not even look at my ticket before smiling at me and indicating that I should turn to my left to be seated. I know where my seat is - there are only twelve or sixteen of them. I will decline any beverage stronger than sparkling water and probably the meal, as well, unless it's international service in which case I'll have a single glass of champagne and pick at the meal offerings. If it's an overnight flight, I'll recline completely wearing my soothing gel-filled eyeshades and my Bose headphones tuned to white noise. When I arrive at my destination, I will be met by an airline rep and, if necessary, a porter who will assist me with my luggage, the customs and immigration formalities if there are any, and then chat me up as they walk me to my ground transportation curbside, allowing me to exit the airport as I entered: blissfully unaware of the rabble who were sitting behind me and who are now fighting each other for their bags on the carousel.

I'm Rachael Ray's costar/fashion expert Tommi DiDario getting on the plane, wearing a tank top and ill-fitting Bermuda shorts. Unfortunately, my whiskey and semi-vegan diet hasn't acclimated itself to my body yet, and the contents of my stomach and intestines are duking it out amongst themselves, which will result in a series of noxious fart clouds that will envelop all the passengers within six rows of me. But I don't care. I'm Mr. Tommi DiDario—Mrs. Gio Benitez to you commoners.

"Hartmann bags will have been lifted from the car by the skycap at curbside, tagged for special handling, wrapped in clear plastic after TSA inspection, and deposited in the hold before I board"

How do you get this treatment?

R154 You get it anywhere other than with US airlines.

I'm the thickly accented person who does 98 percent of the loudspeaker announcements.

No one from any country or any language can understand a fucking word I say.

I'm the annoying bitch from the Hawaiian airlines who keeps saying "Mahalo" at the end of all my loudspeaker announcements.

Zhaoxi Liu where are you??

I'm the thick tension in the air as you pass through the security checkpoint.

I'm the grey tubs at the TSA checkpoint. I get stepped on by wedge shoes and high tops by nearly every passenger and shoved along. I'm often disregarded by non frequent fliers who don't seem to know why I'm stacked all over the X-ray belts until asked by a miserable TSA agent that they must stuff their crap in me and keep the line moving. Belts, shoes, coats, laptops in their own bin...

I'm the grey tubs' Precheck cousin, the little dog bowls for your keys and wallet.

I'm the grounded Max 8 parked on the tarmac over by Cargo.

I’m LaGuardias new pick-up spot. They have cleverly put me on the second or third floor of a parking garage with a one lane exit which requires hundreds of people to meet their car in a sprawling bunker of a space - and then wait as 5 rows of cars try to merge into the one lane off-ramp. You may spend more time in me trying to get out than on your flight.

I'm the adorable TSA K-9s that bring a brief smile to the airport experience.

I'm a 1-liter sized bottle of water. If you're in LAX, I cost $12.00. If you're in DFW, I cost $4.00.

I am the absolute hell that is the San Francisco international departures experience between 1900 and 2100 as all the flights to Asia and Australia depart, as opposed to the bliss of the San Francisco international early morning arrivals experience.

R166 I'm your evil twin, the absolute hell of a.m. arrivals for anything with less than 300 seats due to fog "flow control"!

I’m the US Customs and Border Protection team at LAX - I am stupid, aggressive and have never left California, so will never experience the frustration of getting off a plane after twelve hours in the air and dealing with me.

I’m the international traveller, flying into La Guardia from Chicago after a lifetime of JFK, wondering if we’ve made an unscheduled stop in Bumfuck North Dakota.

I’m the Canadian Customs and Immigration team at Vancouver international airport. I’m staffed with attractive, friendly and welcoming people standing at podiums, saying “Welcome to Canada!”.

The contrast with my American colleagues (see upthread) couldn’t be greater.

Gday R167 - I’ll wave as my Qantas A380 from Sydney gets vectored in ahead of you!

I am the ball of anxiety who drank three drinks at the airport bar before the flight and who ordered more alcohol on the plane because I didn't plan ahead and get a Xanax before the flight.

I've been drinking all day and I'm not sitting next to a fucking three year old!

[quote] I'm CNN. I'm on the TV monitors in every terminal.

because we at CNN pay the airports to lock in that viewing monopoly, thereby grossly padding our non-Nielsen viewer counts for our ad rates.

R15, I hope you didn't!

I Zhaoxi Liu. I here. I here. Prease stop carring my name.

I'm the obviously gay US Air employee in the Pittsburgh airport who keeps repeating over and over on an almost daily basis for my own amusement, "Mr. Bobbie, Mr. Bobbie. Please meet your party in the lobby."

I flew US Air every six months back in the 1980's and 1990's, and on stop-overs in Pittsburgh, it was inevitable not to hear this obviously fake announcement. I envisioned them looking exactly like Jonathan Harris from "Lost in Space" or Louis Edmunds from "All My Children"/"Dark Shadows".

I'm the people who take their shoes off on the plane and then put their feet on things.

I'm one of two people left at the airport shop since we went self-serve. If I'm not wandering around doing fuck all, you might be happy I'm here because people are finding buying things here more complicated than self-checkout at the grocery store.

R154

Elite status, a first class ticket, an airline club membership, and something called "Special Services."

All of which are essentially free, often including FC when it's on an upgrade (or totally free on an award ticket) after you've paid to fly 100,000 or more miles a year, year in and year out, on that airline. For me, for a while, that meant about eighteen transcontinental domestic flights a year along with all the short hops. It's the least they can do to keep your business.

[quote]I’m the international traveller, flying into La Guardia from Chicago after a lifetime of JFK, wondering if we’ve made an unscheduled stop in Bumfuck North Dakota.

I'm the large trash can on the floor of the United concourse, put there when it rained two days ago, but still there, full of stale, rancid water that keeps dripping down. Please stop bumping into me with your fucking rolling luggage.

I'm right under the electronic sign that was originally built to display useful information, but has blared 'God Bless Our Troops' since George Bush invaded Iraq in 2003

I'm the $6 bottle of purified water (not even spring water) at the Hudson News store.

I'm the Indian guy who was promoted to PA announcer -- even other Indians can't understand my accent. The crappy PA system definitely doesn't help:

Goot aftoon, passengers. Wud board pasingale unt flite #$%$ on @##@@ adline at gut %

I'm the person in the security line loudly complaining about how long the line is and how slowly it's moving. I arrived at the airport just 30 minutes prior to my flight's boarding time.

I'm the quarter ounce bag of pretzel sticks that you received from the flight attendant.

I'm the sticky trash left in the seat pocket in front of you by a previous passenger.

I'm the elastic tag you receive when the boarding attendant announces that from this point forward, all carry-on luggage must be stowed away in the cargo hold. Because all the assholes who boarded before you carried on too much shit and took up all the overhead compartments. You should have paid an extra $25 to board in Groups 1 - 3. Somehow you ALWAYS get Group 6 or 7.

I'm the 6'2" Southwest flight attendant forced to walk down the aisle with a box in front of me like an old-timey cigarette girl.

"Cheeze-its or pretzels, Cheese-its or pretzels?"

I'm the line to board the aircraft because the fraus who've already boarded keep standing up and running back and forth from their seat to the overhead bins across the aisle to get stuff out of their luggage to occupy their kids (who are ALREADY antsy even though the plane hasn't even moved yet).

I'm the burrito for $6.95 inside the airport. I can also be had for $1.95 across the street.

[quote] I'm the quarter ounce bag of pretzel sticks that you received from the flight attendant.

Yup! Just enough to leave you dying of thirst, yet still starving.

I'm the family of six who all have seats separately back here, so everyone in these two rows needs to move so we can sit together. Or we can just yell across at each other periodically over the course of the flight. Your choice.

I'm the outdoor concourse to American Airlines in Palm Springs during 3 inch daylong deluge.

I'm the excuses I have to make to family as to why I don't visit anymore, simply because I'm sick of the idiots who don't know how to behave on planes, and the generally lousy service.

I'm the teenage boy from family at R192. DAD! DAD! GIVE THIS BAG BACK TO MOM!

I'm the Happy Meals being passed back to little Liberty and Legacy from their big sisters 6 rows up.

I’m the 'international terminal' at the Pittsburgh Airport. I’m soooooo lonely and empty. Come visit me; you’ll have an entire men's room to yourself. Lots of room to take a nap before that one lousy flight from Toronto gets here. Sigh...

Sorry to be pedantic R197 , but Toronto- originating flights into the US are accepted as domestic due to pre-clearance of customs in Toronto. Be happy you are getting British to London and return of Condor to Frankfurt!

@ShorealoneFilms

bangladeshi-officials-find-106-gold-bars-hidden-in-boeing-777-bathroom-on-flight-from-abu-dhabi

I'm New York's airports. JFK, LaG, Newark. This is an extremely busy region. There are so many reasons we could have you here all day. So many.

I’m the clueless travelers who stand in the aisle maneuvering their luggage and taking their time settling into their row and seat like it’s a hotel room - while the line behind them is at a complete standstill. I fail to understand I could just step into the aisle 6 inches and do all of my “prepping” there rather than blocking the aisle for 5 minutes while I make myself comfortable, pull out all of the things I might want during my trip and arrange my baggage. Or God forbid, I could have it all ready before I board so I can pop my bag into the overhead and slide right into my seat in matter of 5 seconds.

I'm the guy who logs in on Grindr while I wait for my flight. Yes, I really am. I did this yesterday.

I am LaGuardia, and I am a national embarrassment.

I'm the announcement at the end of the flight to open overhead bins carefully, because "shift happens." I am met with a scattering of disapproving laughter.

I’m the narcisstic douchebag who has to stand up before the seat belt sign goes off to open the overhead bins. When the flight attendant yells over the speaker at me, it takes me a few minutes to realize that she/he is talking to me because I’m in my own world of “me, me, me”.

I’m the fat fuck who stole Legacy’s Happy Meal midway as it was being passed to him. Fuck that, you can have the toy ya little shit.

I'm the person who arrives at the airport, stands in line to check a bag, goes through security, sits in the gate area, boards the plane, waits for everyone else to board the plane and then decides xe MUST use the bathroom before takeoff.

I'm the unopened bag of Southwest pretzels sitting on the tray table. I'll drive the fat guy in the next seat crazy the whole flight.

I'm the 20ish guy who has a 45-minute video call with my girlfriend without using my headphones because they're battery-operated and I'm saving them for the flight. And I'm using my outdoor voice the entire call and have the sound turned up because the connection is shitty. I'm completely oblivious to the fact that I'm irritating and/or amusing 100 other people in my immediate vicinity.

I'm the sound of 150 phones being turned on at the same time when the plane stops rolling at the destination airport. It sounds like a casino. People were off the grid for two and a half hours and are inhaling their phones like oxygen.

I'm Debbie Spagatino. Me and my ho squad just got back from a week at the Sandals all-inclusive resort in Jamaica. We landed in PHL where it's 10 degrees, but I'm wearing shorts, a halter top and flip-flops. We all had our hair braided and cornrowed and had more BBC than you can shake a dick at *giggle*. My boyfriend Joey will *never* find out about this, but he'll wonder why I get a far away look in my eyes whenever I hear reggae music.

[quote]I'm the experienced and, frankly, entitled passenger who waits in the airline club lounge until the self-loading freight have processed themselves into their various tiny seats in the center and rear of the aircraft. If necessary (for vacations, mostly), my three well-worn, full-sized, non-wheeled, hard-sided Hartmann bags will have been lifted from the car by the skycap at curbside, tagged for special handling, wrapped in clear plastic after TSA inspection, and deposited in the hold before I board

I'm the even more experienced and, frankly, entitled passenger who snickers at the thought of anyone bothering to travel with the same '80s-era luggage my dad still owns, given that I've owned vastly more sensible (and much more stylish) Rimowa Original suitcases since long before they were "trendy." I shake my head in disdain when I find out it's another elite in FC, who is invariably old enough to make me wonder if we're going to have a front-of-plane "incontinence problem" en route. I lament the utter waste of plastic required to wrap geriatric suitcases tightly enough to prevent their well-worn locks from bursting. It's enough for me to know I *can* use Special Services; I don't need the fuss of an escort to the gate, though I'll certainly wait for the peons in steerage to born before I go on. (And always, ALWAYS sit in 1C: closest to the exit, and doesn't leave me within view of any FAs in jump seats during uncomfortable taxiing to the runway.)

Check luggage? Me? Please: if I'm traveling for an extended period, I have it shipped in advance and dropped off. (If I'm in a proper five-star hotel, I will of course ask the butler to unpack it prior to my arrival.) Even Special Services customers can end up at the whims of hellish local baggage-control sections that can occasionally take an hour or more to unload inbound suitcases off of a flight.

If there was ever a need for "well smell you" R212 is it.

R192--that's often no one's fault--in many of those cases, the family of six has been bumped from a different flight (e.g., original flight was cancelled due to weather) and the airlines rely on the kindness of strangers to allow them to sit next to each other.

The two times I've been in the middle of that, I moved. Must be terrifying to be three years old and on a plane and not able to sit next to your parents.

PS R212 -- Rimowa is soooo 2015.

I'm all of the "so above it all" snobs...........who are flying COMMERCIAL!

LMAO!

We're coming for you R216

If one must fly commercial, at least book the Private Suite

R218 All that expense to book the Private Suite and yet the guy in the video is the kind of trash who removes their shoes and puts their feet up on the coffee table.

You can’t buy class.

I’m the guy who laughs at others’ expensive luggage. It’s a place to put your damn clothes and move them from one place to another FFS.

I'm a traveler of size.

My fellow passengers eye me as we sit in the gate and pray that I'm not their seatmate.

R221 I'm a Southwest passenger. I am not a (total) fatty, but because Southwest does not require proof for a "traveler of size" they have to take my word for it. As such, I get to buy two seats, all to my glorious self, and to my grateful seatmate. When I return, I get the second seat refunded.

If you bitches start abusing this, and get Southwest to rescind this policy, I will hunt you cunts down.

I'm the boarding call announcer with a mouth full of marbles.

I'm the cheap ass offer of $200 to give up your seat on the deliberately overbooked flight.

I am R152

No one likes me.

I’m the button on this “full-figured” TSA lady’s shirt. I am in severe danger of being blown off and impaling myself in someone’s forehead.

I'm the cluster B personality disordered individual who's about to make everybody on the plane absolutely miserable for the next 6 1/2 hours.

I'm the widow from Von Ormy, TX, en route to the grandkids in Statesboro, GA. My son-in-law made my reservation on American to Dallas and Delta to Atlanta, without taking into consideration that I'm 80 goddamn years old and the American gate in Terminal A is as far from the Delta gate in Terminal E as you can get and still be in Texas. The autowalk is down for maintenance so I'm huffing and puffing with my giant rolling suitcase through the concourse, pretending not to notice the dirty looks from the experienced travelers upthread. They'll get old one day too.

We're the lines outside McD's and Starbucks as soon as they open for business at 0600, the slow-moving 20-something barista in one store and the 2 middleaged Filipino women in the other who move like a NASCAR pit crew. Guess who works at which establishment?

I'm the Sudanese driver of the golf cart bearing the 450-pound passenger who will soon be the subject of his very own DL thread. I zip right past the struggling granny from Von Ormy.

I'm the nondescript middleaged man on the Alaska flight from San Antonio to Seattle, the only one in the terminal without my face buried in a screen. That's partly because it's my job as an air marshal to observe, but I also enjoy people watching, a hobby that dates me, I suppose. I'm playing a game with myself, "Guess who's a Seattlite returning home and who's a visiting Texan". The pickle-faced girl with glasses and blue hair--Seattle. The big red-faced guy with the booming voice who gave up his seat to her--Texas. I work my way through the crowd with near 100% accuracy. Profiling--it works.

We're the chargers and outlets at Reagan International, and we are as few and far between as 24-hour liquor stores in rural Utah.

I'm the guy coming back from my annual hunting trip with my brothers who pops positive for Firearm Discharge Residue, instantly reducing the screening line to the speed of a techtonic plate.

We're the contractors working on the broken escalator, standing around the roped off open pit, bullshitting with our first cups of coffee of the day, as the the seething crowds flow up and down the stairs on either side of us.

I'm the soaring glass vaults, Chihuly installation and native sculpture throughout the expanded new SeaTac Airport, and the shabby old baggage claim downstairs, like mansions on the hill looking across the railroad tracks at a trailer park.

We're the military unit traveling "incognito" in civilian clothing, though with our haircuts and duffle bags, we might as well be in full uniform and march through the terminal in formation with someone calling cadence. We'll get dirty looks from some of the hippie types when we get to board right after the first class passengers, but as usual we'll be in the shittiest seats on the plane, albeit with more attentive service than first class, courtesy of the three gay flight attendants. Destination, Okinawa, a rock in the Pacific Ocean with nothing but Marines on it.

I'm the woman in head to toe Lululemon. As soon as I'm seated, I'll pull down the window shade without asking my seatmate if she's OK with that, recline my seat all the way back, slide off my flip flops and prop my feet up on the armrest of R178 in the window seat in front of me. I'm oblivious to the looks of loathing that surround me, because that's just how I roll. A week from now, I'll get a persistent staph infection, not from R178's armrest, but from R160's plastic X-Ray bin, which hasn't been cleaned since it left the factory.

I'm the gate agent, paging Passenger Ashley Smith, reminding her that her flight is now boarding.

I'm the newly retired Air Force Major, on my first non-military flight in 35 years. Jesus Fucking Christ, when did commercial travel go to shit? This is like a Greyhound bus with wings.

I'm the afternoon thunderstorm, rolling down the Plains. A lot of you are going to be spending the night in Denver.

You are a talented writer, r228

I'm R228. While I'm ambitious and well-meaning I don't understand why nobody reads my lengthy posts...

Well it could be today’s attention...

Oooooh, a shiney!

I'm an Eastern Indian couple in their fifties/sixties. We are driven on the golf cart by the Sudanese driver from R228's post. We will also be given priority boarding while in wheelchairs. The moment we land, we'll be running like a pair of gazelles, after we jump from our seats first to retrieve our heavy luggage from overhead compartments.

R232, you’re why r106 sits around most of the day.

I'm a light drizzle at SFO. I somehow inexplicably cause chaos throughout the airport, inducing three hours worth of departure delays and guaranteeing that your entire journey out will be utterly painful. It's the only airport in the world where I get to cause such a huge imposition on so many people.

I'm the automated toilet seat cover changer device at O'Hare.

[quote]I'm the automated toilet seat cover changer device at O'Hare.

Jesus, what the hell is THAT? I've been in lots of airport restrooms, but I don't think I've been to one at O'Hare. What does this thing do?

I’m the quarter mile moving sidewalk that either is not turned on or doesn’t work

We're the maintenance staff, reduced by 60% since 9-11. There's a work order for that moving sidewalk R237 is complaining about, but we're really shorthanded since Hal retired so we probably won't get to it for at least 2 weeks. We really need to replace the entire drive chain, but the the Supply Manager, who never turned a wrench in his life, keeps ordering cheap shit from China instead from the manufacturer, ensuring that R237 and his fellow passengers will be getting a good aerobic workout between Terminals A and B.

Behold, r236

I am the auxiliary terminal at the Toronto airport, for flights coming in from Ohio. I am so far away from the main terminal,l that I necessitate a shuttle bus that goes out on the highway. This requires yet another trip through security. I’m also the Air Canada gates in Toronto that have no access to food or drink, other than souvenir maple cookies and syrup. If you want to eat on your layover, you’ll need to go through security. Again.

I'm the luggage delivery at Pearson Airport in Toronto and I'm so slow and inefficient that many people standing around the carousels 45 minutes after their flight landed wonder if the luggage is being transported from gates to carousels in oxcarts.

I'm the plexiglass in Pearson that separates flights to the US from domestic flights within Canada.

Anything you want to buy is on the other side of me.

I'm the Air Canada "terminal" in Logan. I'm basically a glorified Greyhound station, with the added horror that once you enter me, you cannot get out.

I'm the mundane item in the gift shop priced 400% higher than in town. You will buy me because of captive market syndrome.

THANK YOU for posting that, R239. I can honestly say I've never seen such a miracle device. I'd like to try one out, but I make it a point to never poop in airport restrooms, O'Hare or otherwise. But at least I can now intelligently discuss these clever toilet seat covers, should the subject arise in polite conversation.

Bless your heart for trying, Toronto.

I'm the grizzled old lesbian bartender at one of the many terminal watering holes who never cracks a smile and whose only response to you when you order a drink is "ID!"

I'm Logan International, and despite being the major hub for New England, I close up shop and roll up the sidewalks at. 10 PM like it was Brownlee, Nebraska on a Monday night.

I'm the free wifi at Logan. Sometimes I block DL; other times I do not.

I’m the airport directory with a prominent “you are here” sticker.

How they know where I am at any given time beats the piss outta me.

[quote]The two times I've been in the middle of that, I moved. Must be terrifying to be three years old and on a plane and not able to sit next to your parents.

Must be most terrifying to sit next to a three-year-old on a plane.

[quote] I'm a Southwest passenger. I am not a (total) fatty, but because Southwest does not require proof for a "traveler of size" they have to take my word for it. As such, I get to buy two seats, all to my glorious self, and to my grateful seatmate. When I return, I get the second seat refunded.

I am the Southwest passenger scanning the boarding crowd for a Customer of Size -- one holding the magic white card that will go in the middle seat and keep anyone else from sitting there. You, Customer of Size, will be my best friend for the next few hours if we play this right.

If you are in the aisle seat, I'll ask for the window. Vice versa. Even if the entire plane is jam-packed, we will have an empty seat between us.

[quote]If you bitches start abusing this, and get Southwest to rescind this policy, I will hunt you cunts down.

I wish I was just big (and bold) enough to try this.

I'm the "Pregnant Couple" who deliberately book single seats, with the incubator's seat closer to the front of the plane, one of which happens to be the seat immediately adjoining my aisle seat. Then the 'incubator's' partner (who is seated in the back-ass area of the plane) casually approaches me to 'politely' asks me to change seats so they are able to sit with their 'incubator.'

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

I'm the "NO" response to the request to change seats. And no, I don't give a shit if you just got married, or whatever else you want to whine about. You can survive 2 hours not seated next to each other.

Checking in at the counter, silently praying: I think I have enough awards points to get me into First Class, away from the Steerage section -

I love you, R255!

I'm the TSA agents in cheap, ill-fitting polyester uniforms, bellowing orders at the travelers. I really couldn't care less about safety. What I love about this job is the CONTROL.

I’m the guy sitting on the aisle who yells at the backpack wearers. Yeah, that’s right you. IDIOT. You’re walking down the aisle and hitting everyone on both sides of the aisle with your backpack. TAKE THE GODDAMN THING OFF AND PUT IT IN FRONT OF YOU.

I am the clouds out the window. The earliest dreams of humans, from ancient Egyptians to peasant folk sailing the seas. From the dawn of humankind, tiny little humans looked at the sky and wondered what it was like for a bird to fly through me and my kind. The ingrates of a mechanical century forward pull shut the window, unimpressed. But the humans won't last long. The plants cry out to keep flying. They desire reclamation of the earth.

The fever of earth is rising to cast out the viral infection that is the human. The tears of the clouds shall go unnoticed but eventually won't be polluted anymore. The dinosaurs used to eye me, too, unimpressed as they chomped on carcasses of their fellow kind. I had hoped humans would be different. What next?

I'm the asshole who puts his carry on luggage in the overhead bin above you when my seat is 30 seats behind.