The story that started it all...

Here's the story that inspired this blog!

If I were writing about my experience at BWI, it would go a little like this:
Bob and I left Skycroft around 3:30 p.m. for the hour or so drive back to Baltimore. We were hoping to make it to the car rental return area by around 4:40 p.m., two hours before our flight departure at 6:40 p.m. The car rental area of BWI is pretty far away from the actual terminal, so we knew getting there a little early was important. We ended up getting there around 4:50 or 5 p.m. and had to wait behind six or seven other disgruntled travelers for the Hertz employees to get off of their break and check in the huge backlog of rental returns. Finally, a Hertz employee materializes, gives Bob the receipt, and we sprint off in search of the shuttle back to the terminal.

We were elated to discover that our stop would be the first stop the shuttle made at the airport. So we grabbed our suitcases and took off for the escalators to the Southwest counter. . . .where we had to wait in a line that resembled the line for the newest roller coaster at any Six Flags amusement park in the middle of the summer. Finally we make it to the front of the line and each of us jets off to a separate kiosk to check in to our flights. After some 15-30 minutes of waiting in that line, we speed off to security, sans some of our bags. It's now around 5:30 p.m.

I'm thinking that we'll get through security with no probs, make it onto the concourse around 6 p.m., and I can grab something to eat somewhere in the airport. (As a sidenote, I love eating junk in airports. It's part of the fun for me. I was hungry and didn't want the granola bar Bob kept offering me because I wanted a real meal, dang it!)

I made it through security with only nominal problems. They scanned my purse twice, probably because it was packed with plane essentials and also probably because the X-ray of my phone charger cord could have looked a little creepy on that little screen. So we make it through security and I head off for McDonald's while Bob joins the line at Arby's.

Let me go on the record that I should have known from the line at McDonald's that I needed to get out now, but I ignored my common sense in honor of my stomach's request for hot, salty fries. And a Dr. Pepper. More than anything, I wanted some caffiene in Dr. Pepper fountain soda form. That was not to be had.

I'd been in line at a register where a girl was taking orders from the people about 2 places in front of me. The guy in front of me turned around to give me some important info, "They're all out of soda," he said. OK, I thought, I can handle that. I don't really need full calorie soda anyway. I'll just get a lemonade." After several minutes of waiting for someone behind the counter to come take his order at the station where they'd been taking orders just minutes before, the guy in front of me left in frustration, mumbling something about finding something healthier anyway.

OK, it's at this point that I really should have left, but I didn't, because I'd apparently lost all ability to reason. I quickly realize that the workers have quit taking orders from the register I'm in line at, and apparently done so without telling any of the customers they would no longer be doing so. I fall into the back of the line at the next available register, where a grandfather from New York is ordering his 3-year-old granddaughter a happy meal with chocolate milk from a highly disgruntled employee. She takes his order and shuffles off from the counter, presumably to merge all the certain items that comprise his order into one bag and one happy meal box. Instead, she comes back with a container of chocolate milk and starts bellering in incomprehensible English: "CHOCOLATE MILK. CHOCOLATE MILK! WHO ORDERED CHOCOLATE MILK?!"

After a few minutes, I figure out what she's saying and ask the man if he ordered chocolate milk and help him to understand that Disgruntled, Angry McEmployee is talking to him. He accepts the milk from her, to which she responds in a shout: "Pay attention to your order!" I think if she could have added expletives to that, she would have. New York Grandpa was not the right guy to pull this with though, as he started turning a red color people's faces should never turn, and I thought he might blow his top! Finally, she takes my order. I try to make it simple: a number 2 meal and lemonade. I hand her my card because this is a work expense and wait for the receipt. . . that she doesn't give me. I have to have receipts for expense reports, so I say, "I need a receipt, please." She glares at me, slams the machine, opens up the receipt printing area, slams it again, rips off some paper and shoves it at me. I take it and move to my left for the next person in line. . . only to be glared at again and shouted at to move over the the right and get out of the way. (I'd like to point out that I was standing in the line I originally started out in. . .the one they inexplicably quit serving some 10 minutes before.) But instead, I quietly moved to the right and waited for my order. It came, about the same time as the happy meal for New York Grandpa arrived. I just grabbed it and left with my lukewarm lemonade that I'd watched the girl pour into my cup from another cup sitting on the counter rather than the drink machine. I made a mental note not to drink it.

Finally, I meet Bob at the gate, where are already delayed flight has been delayed even more. We finally got on a plane around 9 p.m. eastern and landed in Nashville around 10:30 p.m. central, 3 hours after our scheduled arrival. Yep, me, Southwest, and BWI are not very good friends at the moment!

by Mandy

Blackout in Lagos

I guess the all time worst experience at an airport came in Lagos, Nigeria. Arriving in Lagos is not picnic, but this happened when we were leaving. We had driven through a six hour traffic jam to get to Lagos and to the airport. Then after checking luggage, going through security, and finally settling down at the gate, we settled in for a four hour wait till boarding time. About two hours into that wait, with the gate full of folks waiting to board the plane, all—and I mean ALL the lights in and around the airport went out—BLACKOUT! It stayed that way for about ten minutes and we kept hoping that no planes were trying to land.

by Ken

Adventures with Marlo

In February of 2004, I was preparing to open a Curves franchise in my town of Savannah, GA. I flew down for training at their headquarters in Waco, TX.

Obviously, the closest airport was Dallas/Ft. Worth. My arrival was thankfully uneventful. I rented my car and drove to Waco and enjoyed a great week of training ladies on how to amaze themselves 30 minutes at a time. I thought I had given myself plenty of time to drive back to
Dallas/Ft. Worth and catch my plane, when it began to snow. Yes. It apparently snows in Texas. So I drove slowly, southerner that I am and not familiar with how to drive in those conditions.

I made it to Dallas in time and headed to the ramp to return the rental car. I'd never done this before. There was no one to help me or explain that those big spikes wouldn't actually puncture the tires, so I stopped right before the rental entrance, with cars waiting behind me. Finally some other rental car driver in a not so friendly way explained to me what to do (although there was clearly a little building where the Enterprise worker should have been to explain it to me instead.) At any rate, I drove over the spikes and they just laid down and did not hurt the car. Whew!

I returned the car and headed to my flight. I'm thinking of my 10 month old baby, Madeline, who I had had to quit nursing just before this trip and wondering how in the world she did this whole week without me and would she recognize me. I check in at the front- get my seat assignment and head to the gate.

Security. Crap! Forgot about that. I'm running late by this point, and need to get to that gate. After waiting in the line for about an hour, I finally get close to the front and realize I have about 10 minutes to run like a crazy woman to the gate before the plane leaves without me. Ok. Make it through security and run like heck. Make it to the gate and hand the agent my ticket. She begins to enter me in when a young man runs up behind me, panting from running as well. She
asks him which flight he's trying to get on...of course it's the same one. I'm thinking, "Why the heck are you asking him that, just let me on!" Then she asks for his ticket.

At that moment, I have no idea what happened. I have absolutely no idea what made her make the incredibly horrific decision she made, but she did it anyway. She let him on instead of me. Even though I was there first. The anger, rage and fury that surfaced at that moment were sides of me I didn't even know I had. Did that guy have a baby?! Probably not. And even if he had I can guarantee you he wasn't nursing it! And then the helplessness settled in. No matter how I
yelled and cajoled, they weren't letting me on the plane. And they had no good explanation. It was a good thing they didn't allow weapons, because at that moment I would have used one. These people did not deserve limbs.

So they put me on the last flight to Atlanta, where I arrived around 1 am. Then there was no one at the Atlanta airport to help me or the other passengers on my flight. We all wandered around looking for help. In the farthest corner we found one man who supposedly was to help us get hotels for the evening. If the airport hadn't been so creepy and I had not been a woman by myself I would have just found a stiff airport seat to grumble in all night. But fearing for my life, I figured I should stay in a room with a lock.

So they decide on a hotel for us, get us our rooms and we head to the shuttle. Where we wait for a good 20 minutes for it to arrive. When we finally make it to the hotel, I realize we are in the "hood." I may need more than a door with a lock at this place.

What didn't help was the reporting of a missing person in the hotel as I checked in. Nice.

I finally get to my room about 2:30 a.m. I deadlock the door, then expend any minutiae of energy left on moving all the furniture in front of it. I pray as many prayers as possible to settle my fearful mind and at some point remember to set my alarm for 4:45. Yep. All that work to sleep for 2 hours.

The next morning went much smoother and I made it to Savannah by 9 am that Saturday, very tired but incredibly happy to be home.

So how do I rate my airports? They SUCK!

-by Marlo

Rate My Airport

So, I just read a friend's blog, and she had a brilliant idea. To quote her:

A friend of mine recently told me about a Web site where college students could rate their professors.

After my last experience at an airport, that got me thinking. I propose that someone out there start a wonderful Web site devoted to rate personal experiences at airports. You know, which airports have the longest delays, the best food, the most exciting, fun, or creative way to get from concourse to concourse (trains, rollerskates, whatever.)

So I thought I'd run with it! I'm going to post airport experiences, and if you have one of your own, you can email it to me (email address is in the right-hand sidebar) and I'll post it on here as well.