June 24-29th I went to Røsvik with Lady C, and here’s the flight log from my little black box. Incidentally, it doesn’t say anything about the actual stay, just the coming and going. With respect to airport security. Here’s an extract:
Have you ever been sick of dogs humping your leg? (It’s a rhetorical question, you animal lover.) Yes? What I do to teach ’em a lesson is simply grabbing hold of their leg and hump my heart’s desire. At least when the dog’s an airport security nasty with fascist fetishes from a traumatized childhood.
At least, that’s what I was thinking when I was waiting in line to get my public bumhole examination. I was anxious about my brand new Zippo lighter that my brother gave me for my birthday. It’s custom engraved by hand and angel nail clippings: Philosophy and Bacon. Just to make sure that lighters were allowed in principle I had checked the new rules in full the night before. It’s good reading and I can only recommend it if you need a laugh. Unfortunately, it seems the rules have been adopted uncritically from the USAE. I mean, how often do you see someone crying their heart out in security because they can’t bring THE FLAMETHROWER they got for X-mas? Or the TOMAHAWK they bought in the gift shop? However, it’s the more mundane and ordinary restrictions that create such annoyance. Like, you can’t bring the cattle-prod inside the plane, but it’s okay to ship it. And lighters? They are fine, one per person, as long as its not shaped like a gun and the fuel is completely absorbed into solid matter. What the fuck?
Standing there I mused over several scenarios where the security guard saw all my books and the Zippo and put two and two together. As we all know, sec brutes didn’t pass math in the first grade.
– You making a fire, sir?
– What? I read.
– Three books on a weekend?
– I could if I wanted to. But I’m not gonna
– Fire is not allowed aboard the aircraft son, I can’t allow you to bring this disguised weapon-of-mass-destruction firewood you refer to as books
– I could put the seats on fire
– Can’t allow them either. From now on, we’re all standing
– And I think the floor is mostly carpet floor, right?
– Removing the floor
– What about the cabin crew? AFAIK airport hotels serve really crappy food
– Your point?
– Pure methane gas. Highly flammable
– Crew’s gone
– And the engine fuel?
– Way ahead of you, we’ve already drained the plane
– And if I’m not mistaken, sir security guard, two vital components of any fire whatsoever are significant temperature and oxygen
– I’ll set the temperature down and suck out all the air. There you go. Have a nice flight!
But when I got to the OMG Chernobyl cul-de-sac, they had replaced the usual low-brows with hot babes. Yeah. A barely legal with the tip of her elbows resting lightly on the top of the scanner and her back in an arch topped by her two nipples slightly visible in the air condition cool, gave me a lustful, daring stare as I approached the robot detector. I swear it was just like Sound of Music, skinny bratwurst lolita singing in the Alps. Suddenly the air smelled like spring, white doves appeared, the lambs of the season danced happily on the dewy grassland and surely the detector looked more like a wedding gate with roses, green ivy and white draperies.
Barely flexing the spirited teenage muscles of her high school body, the airport angel floated towards me just a few inches above the ground.
– You will have to remove the belt, sir
– I know, I said, sucking in the marvel of her Venus appearance
– Oh, sorry
I was so disappointed when she didn’t ask me to ‘follow her’. I’d hump her leg any day. The rest of them, all girls, were chewing bubble gum and eyeing up the other guards and staring in the general direction of other male passengers’ genitalia. And people were shocked and enraged a few weeks back when a child got into the x-ray…
Incidentally, the kid in casu was an alien
Seriously though, the pass-through went better than expected. I just stood at the end of the conveyor belt collecting what remained of my items one-by-one, since one of the bubble heads had tipped over all of my white, plastic, anti-terror technological devices (boxes) during the FUD procedure. By the time I had recovered as much as I could find, I had to run for my gate. ‘Boarding’ the screen said, but it hadn’t checked its info with the rest of reality ’cause they were only letting disabled people, senior and junior citizens through. I have yet to experience a flight where the majority’s minors or contenders in the Special Olympics and they have to wait. Man looked at me when I accidentally stepped on his heel, and said: "Are you a fucking idiot?"
– Mentally challenged, you insensitive clod!
– Oh, sorry
Then I was moved in front of the line.
Which is the right place to be, given that you’ll be sitting on the plane waiting while the rest of the plane is boarding. Then the captain goes something like: "Cabin crew disarm lights", which is the motherfucking cabin crew slang shit for "dim down yo ride biatch", and the plane takes off. And the kids squeal in delight, babies from agony and some people just join in for the heck of it. I’m not going to say anything about prepackaged meals, ’cause I don’t want to end up like Jerry Seinfeld.
.. way back though, bastards took my sun lotion! The container was too big, although two 3rds had gone already, but empty containers are apparently extremely dangerous. Didn’t like my brand either, Jihad on Sun factor nine-eleven.
– I’m gonna have to confiscate that dangerous item
– But it’s nearly empty..
– You’re not making sense. The container is too big
– But I need it! My skin! It will crumble and fall off in scales like the T1000 in T2!
– Sorry, can’t have it
– «Then Moses said unto Pharaoh: Let my people have lotion, and lubricate»
– No can do. But you can check it in, the girl said with a smile
– OF COURSE! I screamed. It will only take another hour and a half to get back here!
Got to the gates, Lady C traveling economy and I on Diamond Line VIP. Set to be a relaxing experience of soothing comfort, you’d think. Aside from the fact that her flight was leaving when my plane hadn’t even arrived! So there was I, tightly secured from any chance of smoking and severly vulnerable to third-degree sunburns while the common folk were humping away leisurely an hour and a half before the elite.
Then someone on Scandinavian Airlines – Yes, I will call names – had a brilliant idea; Let’s get these people boarded now, this way we will save time while waiting for the plane onto which the passengers are supposed to embark to arrive.
We were queuing up and herded into a closed-off part of the gate like sheep, like cattle, like common folk. The area was too small for the crowd of passengers. I couldn’t take it.
– Look missy, you’re not fooling anyone! You can’t board people now, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. No plane to embark. No hill where the grass is greener. You can’t cross the river of Styx on an optimistic whim! No less fly to Oslo in an aircraft that refuses to manifest itself!
The stewardess looked at me like I was a first grader, she mrs. Jenkins, and the crowd behind all the parents of the entire class of 03. Fuck ’em.
– Do you want to scan your fingerprint, sir?
– No, I said confidently. I work in IT.
There was a murmur behind me.
– You know, I added, we’re not really saving any time doing this here
She didn’t say anything. Instead I got a text from Lady C beaming from Oslo International Airport wondering when the plane was going to land. "LAND?!!" I yelled on the phone, "we’re still waiting for some god damn evidence regarding the plane’s physical existence!" "Oh," she said. And I could just hear how she struggled to hold back all the smug remarks about VIP class.
– When do you expect to take off then?
– At this rate? Post-mortem. See you on the other side!
When the the plane finally decided to descend from above we had to wait for an ambulance that was there for a pickup. At that point courtesy was void and thankfully democracy as well, as people behind yelled for lynching and to let the mothafuggah burn.
Ready to embark I looked at the watch and up again, sending a tell-tale gaze in the particular direction of Mrs. Jenkins. It said: See? Was I right or was I right? Holy Jebus H. Christ el Salvador jelly-fish-faced Jehova on a vampire stake, for Christ’s sake! I was right!? Who would’ve known??!!!11!eleven! The flawless and effective SAS passenger handling has unforeseen consequences, however, and we were forced to wait fifteen minutes outside the plane.
F.I.N.A.L.L.Y inside the plane, I got to the rear and found my seat, sat down, looked up into the eyes of a baby looking straight back at me. "Holy Bloody Mary and the Sanitary Napkin!" The mum was shocked at my outcry. Well, at the least the kid gets to know some North-Norwegian slang.
Babies on planes. The situation has been thoroughly described on several occasions by Dr. Pauly to such an extent that it is formally known as Pauly’s Position in the scientific world. And it’s indeed an unfavorable position, that reaches its climax during taxi, take-off and landing. In fact, statistics show you’ll have a reduced quality-of-life throughout the entire flight. Sampling includes syntax for risk-relief (virtually zero when the flight’s fully booked), senior stripper sideviews, temporary and permanent loss of hearing, and random variables for throwing up — or simply throwing inanimate OR animate objects around, regardless of property rights and the general respect for other people’s personal boundaries. Seated in the middle, suffice to say I spent the two hours as a buffer ‘tween mother & child and a weird guy gobbling GUMMY BEARS from a brown paper bag.
…..I should have checked in the damn lotion. Defeat.