A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT….
I usually send observations out of the countries I have visited. This time I am doing a little something different for a couple of reasons. One reason is a couple of people have said I should consider writing a book throwing together all my observations and funny stories. Secondly, this last big travel trip I took through Spain, Portugal, Africa and Andorra I was traveling with someone which took away from my ability to observe things as well as I wanted. You will still get the observations of those countries, but not up to my usual standards. So instead, you get this true story, or at least true in the sense of this is how I remember it, if you can find witnesses that testify to it happening then good for you and get a life. Do not hesitate to send me back feedback and suggestions. More than a few of you are incredibly creative, I have been out of school for too long, and my artistic juices are not flowing as freely as they once did. With that out of the way, here we go.
As I stated earlier, I traveled with someone on my holiday through all the above-mentioned countries. That is another story in it self, which you all will be getting soon enough. Anyway, my job gave me two free nights in this hotel in Paris. I arrived at the hotel very late and asked how far away the airport was since the flight I needed to meet the next day arrived at 6:30am. The Night Clerk told me no more than 10 minutes. I figured I was set. I figured out that getting through immigration alone at Charles de Gaulle airport would take at least an hour, not counting luggage retrieval time I could take my time getting to the airport and everything would be smooth. Oh how wrong I was.
To start things off I overslept. Set my alarm for 6pm instead of 6am. No worries I am thinking, even though I woke up late since I was still so close to the airport I would just skip breakfast and go straight to the shuttle. I walk up to the front desk and ask which way to the shuttle. This is where things started going down hill very fast. The clerk looked at me with this confused dazed look in her eye and said she did not know of any shuttle in the area. I just figured she was new and asked someone else behind the desk. He said the same thing! They did know of a bus I could take that would take me to a metro station that would take me to a rapid train station, which would take me to the airport. I knew I was in trouble then. I ran to the bus stop, and I knew it was the right bus stop because it was right in front of a KFC with black folks waiting with grease stains around their mouths from the 2-piece meal they were eating for breakfast. Ghetto is ghetto even in France. Get on the bus, buy my ticket and everything is cool. The bus gets to the stop I need and the doors open. As soon as the doors to the bus opened these French bus agents jump on the bus as if they are the F.B.I. They came on lined up three abreast so they blocked the exit to the bus. Then another two came on through the front door blocking that way as well. They were like pinball flippers knocking people back in play when someone tried to get off the bus. I was confused as hell cause all the agents were talking in rapid fire French. Then I realized they were letting off who showed a bus pass or ticket. No problem. I showed mine, fully expecting to be let off, but the F.B.I., I mean bus agent would not let me off the bus. I do not speak French and the agent did not speak English so he could not understand why he was not letting me off the bus. All of this took place within a 20-second period, just enough time for the bus driver to close the doors and speed off to the next stop. One of the agents who did speak English explained to me that when I bought the ticket I had to put it through this little machine behind the driver that validated the ticket. In addition, since my ticket was not validated I had to pay a 45-euro fine. Hah! I started taking off the earrings and watch cause it was about to be a fight on the bus fo’ real, forty five euros because I didn’t know about a machine BEHIND the driver!? In Belgium, the machine is right next to the driver and he validates the ticket for you. In the UK, it is the same way. I was vexed. I figured if I was going to be paying a fine I was going to be paying a fine for something. The same agent said that if I had my passport proving I was a foreigner who did not know I would be off the hook. I always have my passport so I was off the hook. But the muthafucker was taking his time looking at my stamps trying to ask me about some of the countries I had visited. All the while, my stop was getting further and further away in the distance.
I finally was let off and had to run back to the stop I wanted in the first place. Get to the Metro station and get to the stop that has the rapid train to the airport. You have to buy a separate ticket for the rapid train. Get to the ticket office and there is a line literally out of the door for people waiting to buy tickets. GREAT! I was very late by this point. I waited in the line for 10 minutes and realized it was not going anywhere. Luckily, I had my new French bankcard on me and saw a ticket machine in the room, took me another 10 minutes to buy my ticket since the machine was only in French. I narrowly avoided buying a ticket to London instead of just the airport. Had my ticket in hand and I ran to the appropriate platform to catch the airport train. Of course, it is not a direct line but a commuter line. So every single stop we had to wait for the fat woman with all of her groceries, the school class on fieldtrip and the man in the wheelchair who I think al lurk around corners waiting to jump on the trains when people are in a rush to slow the trains down even more.
Finally go to the airport around 8:30am. Over 2 hours since the plane landed. Reach into my pockets to get the flight information and DAMN! I forgot the paper with the flight information. Could not remember which gate or terminal the plane arrived at. Since I was so late, they had taken that flight info down from the Arrivals screen. I as running around like chicken with its head cut off. While I am running around to see if my friend was, is just waiting for me, they are constantly paging this person over and over and over again to come and get his luggage. I go check with the Airline Company and find out the gate of the flight. Of course, I need the terminal on the complete opposite of the airport. Can I get to that terminal though? No! That man they kept on paging to come get his luggage? He never showed up, so in this day and age the Police department, Bomb squad and the Intelligence agencies were called in to investigate the luggage. They cordoned off the entire area and no one was allowed to pass. I ended up waiting over an hour for this situation to resolve itself. It was resolved in that they just ended up blowing up the bag right there in the airport terminal. I was stuck in the lower level of the terminal directly beside the staircase the bag had been left. A gang of white, American, tourists was stuck on the level with me during this ordeal. When they were all set to blow up the bag, all the French people backed the fuck up and put their fingers in their ears. Now, I do not speak a word of French, but I do understand people backing up, scooping up kids and fingers in ears in all languages. The white Americans were CLUELESS. They stood milling around like sheep, some even tried to get closer to see what all the commotion was about. One dummy even tried to walk up the stairs because he thought it was open since the Policeman guarding the stairs was no longer there. Guess she didn’t see the hundred French people and one black man pushed as far back in the hallway away from the stairs as possible and 30 or so Americans just milling around the staircase. Then one Policeman ran downstairs and put up one hand with three fingers. He then started a countdown in French. Again, even if you do not speak French, you have to understand something is going to happen when it gets to no fingers. The Policeman went down to two fingers; people are forgetting about body space and cramming in as tight as they can, down to one finger and people are closing their eyes and squinting real hard like all people do when they know something scary or loud is going to happen……One finger and BA BOOM BLAM !!! I had my fingers in my ears and knew the blast was coming and it still made me almost piss myself. Poor white people (I am shaking my damn head right now) the blast sent about half the group straight into the air. The other half started screaming at the top of their lungs and running in all directions like a herd of Elephants on those old Tarzan movies. As we all know, when white people attempt to flee in sheer terror and panic….they trip and fall. Trip and fall they did. One woman was so big she had cankles. You know, calves and ankles together because the fat has fused the two together. She fell dead on her knees and elbows AND she was wearing a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt. I think the sound of her bare skin hitting linoleum with that much momentum and force equaled the sound of the bag being exploded. Since the French people had been given the all clear signal they had let their kids go and taken their fingers out of their ears. They got frightened at the second “explosion” and almost start stampeding. Luckily, the Policemen calmed them down and got some order restored. In the middle of it all, was one Black man rollin’ on the floor in laughter that had seen the entire thing happen and could not wait to write it down in his journal.
The epilogue to this story….
They had not cleaned up the suitcase they exploded so you could see it as you came up the stairs. No bomb inside, but hella burnt up underwear, t-shirts, socks, shaving cream and papers. I stood up on a chair in the area to get a better view of the area to catch a glimpse of my friend. I was able to see the person whose suitcase it was they blew up. There was this loud, “What the fuck?!” Ok, that was not said. I actually heard a loud yell in Arabic but I am sure that is what the person was saying. At least it is what I would have said. And personally, the man should count himself lucky they only blew up his bag. The man looked like Osama’s Uncle on his daddy’s side 3rd removed. Seriously, he had the full beard, turban, flowing robes and everything. If he would have left his bag like that in a New York airport, they might have attached him to the bag and blown him up with it just to play it safe. Then when his family came to inquire about their relative, they would have arrested them for conspiracy for terrorism and shipped them to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.
I usually send observations out of the countries I have visited. This time I am doing a little something different for a couple of reasons. One reason is a couple of people have said I should consider writing a book throwing together all my observations and funny stories. Secondly, this last big travel trip I took through Spain, Portugal, Africa and Andorra I was traveling with someone which took away from my ability to observe things as well as I wanted. You will still get the observations of those countries, but not up to my usual standards. So instead, you get this true story, or at least true in the sense of this is how I remember it, if you can find witnesses that testify to it happening then good for you and get a life. Do not hesitate to send me back feedback and suggestions. More than a few of you are incredibly creative, I have been out of school for too long, and my artistic juices are not flowing as freely as they once did. With that out of the way, here we go.
As I stated earlier, I traveled with someone on my holiday through all the above-mentioned countries. That is another story in it self, which you all will be getting soon enough. Anyway, my job gave me two free nights in this hotel in Paris. I arrived at the hotel very late and asked how far away the airport was since the flight I needed to meet the next day arrived at 6:30am. The Night Clerk told me no more than 10 minutes. I figured I was set. I figured out that getting through immigration alone at Charles de Gaulle airport would take at least an hour, not counting luggage retrieval time I could take my time getting to the airport and everything would be smooth. Oh how wrong I was.
To start things off I overslept. Set my alarm for 6pm instead of 6am. No worries I am thinking, even though I woke up late since I was still so close to the airport I would just skip breakfast and go straight to the shuttle. I walk up to the front desk and ask which way to the shuttle. This is where things started going down hill very fast. The clerk looked at me with this confused dazed look in her eye and said she did not know of any shuttle in the area. I just figured she was new and asked someone else behind the desk. He said the same thing! They did know of a bus I could take that would take me to a metro station that would take me to a rapid train station, which would take me to the airport. I knew I was in trouble then. I ran to the bus stop, and I knew it was the right bus stop because it was right in front of a KFC with black folks waiting with grease stains around their mouths from the 2-piece meal they were eating for breakfast. Ghetto is ghetto even in France. Get on the bus, buy my ticket and everything is cool. The bus gets to the stop I need and the doors open. As soon as the doors to the bus opened these French bus agents jump on the bus as if they are the F.B.I. They came on lined up three abreast so they blocked the exit to the bus. Then another two came on through the front door blocking that way as well. They were like pinball flippers knocking people back in play when someone tried to get off the bus. I was confused as hell cause all the agents were talking in rapid fire French. Then I realized they were letting off who showed a bus pass or ticket. No problem. I showed mine, fully expecting to be let off, but the F.B.I., I mean bus agent would not let me off the bus. I do not speak French and the agent did not speak English so he could not understand why he was not letting me off the bus. All of this took place within a 20-second period, just enough time for the bus driver to close the doors and speed off to the next stop. One of the agents who did speak English explained to me that when I bought the ticket I had to put it through this little machine behind the driver that validated the ticket. In addition, since my ticket was not validated I had to pay a 45-euro fine. Hah! I started taking off the earrings and watch cause it was about to be a fight on the bus fo’ real, forty five euros because I didn’t know about a machine BEHIND the driver!? In Belgium, the machine is right next to the driver and he validates the ticket for you. In the UK, it is the same way. I was vexed. I figured if I was going to be paying a fine I was going to be paying a fine for something. The same agent said that if I had my passport proving I was a foreigner who did not know I would be off the hook. I always have my passport so I was off the hook. But the muthafucker was taking his time looking at my stamps trying to ask me about some of the countries I had visited. All the while, my stop was getting further and further away in the distance.
I finally was let off and had to run back to the stop I wanted in the first place. Get to the Metro station and get to the stop that has the rapid train to the airport. You have to buy a separate ticket for the rapid train. Get to the ticket office and there is a line literally out of the door for people waiting to buy tickets. GREAT! I was very late by this point. I waited in the line for 10 minutes and realized it was not going anywhere. Luckily, I had my new French bankcard on me and saw a ticket machine in the room, took me another 10 minutes to buy my ticket since the machine was only in French. I narrowly avoided buying a ticket to London instead of just the airport. Had my ticket in hand and I ran to the appropriate platform to catch the airport train. Of course, it is not a direct line but a commuter line. So every single stop we had to wait for the fat woman with all of her groceries, the school class on fieldtrip and the man in the wheelchair who I think al lurk around corners waiting to jump on the trains when people are in a rush to slow the trains down even more.
Finally go to the airport around 8:30am. Over 2 hours since the plane landed. Reach into my pockets to get the flight information and DAMN! I forgot the paper with the flight information. Could not remember which gate or terminal the plane arrived at. Since I was so late, they had taken that flight info down from the Arrivals screen. I as running around like chicken with its head cut off. While I am running around to see if my friend was, is just waiting for me, they are constantly paging this person over and over and over again to come and get his luggage. I go check with the Airline Company and find out the gate of the flight. Of course, I need the terminal on the complete opposite of the airport. Can I get to that terminal though? No! That man they kept on paging to come get his luggage? He never showed up, so in this day and age the Police department, Bomb squad and the Intelligence agencies were called in to investigate the luggage. They cordoned off the entire area and no one was allowed to pass. I ended up waiting over an hour for this situation to resolve itself. It was resolved in that they just ended up blowing up the bag right there in the airport terminal. I was stuck in the lower level of the terminal directly beside the staircase the bag had been left. A gang of white, American, tourists was stuck on the level with me during this ordeal. When they were all set to blow up the bag, all the French people backed the fuck up and put their fingers in their ears. Now, I do not speak a word of French, but I do understand people backing up, scooping up kids and fingers in ears in all languages. The white Americans were CLUELESS. They stood milling around like sheep, some even tried to get closer to see what all the commotion was about. One dummy even tried to walk up the stairs because he thought it was open since the Policeman guarding the stairs was no longer there. Guess she didn’t see the hundred French people and one black man pushed as far back in the hallway away from the stairs as possible and 30 or so Americans just milling around the staircase. Then one Policeman ran downstairs and put up one hand with three fingers. He then started a countdown in French. Again, even if you do not speak French, you have to understand something is going to happen when it gets to no fingers. The Policeman went down to two fingers; people are forgetting about body space and cramming in as tight as they can, down to one finger and people are closing their eyes and squinting real hard like all people do when they know something scary or loud is going to happen……One finger and BA BOOM BLAM !!! I had my fingers in my ears and knew the blast was coming and it still made me almost piss myself. Poor white people (I am shaking my damn head right now) the blast sent about half the group straight into the air. The other half started screaming at the top of their lungs and running in all directions like a herd of Elephants on those old Tarzan movies. As we all know, when white people attempt to flee in sheer terror and panic….they trip and fall. Trip and fall they did. One woman was so big she had cankles. You know, calves and ankles together because the fat has fused the two together. She fell dead on her knees and elbows AND she was wearing a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt. I think the sound of her bare skin hitting linoleum with that much momentum and force equaled the sound of the bag being exploded. Since the French people had been given the all clear signal they had let their kids go and taken their fingers out of their ears. They got frightened at the second “explosion” and almost start stampeding. Luckily, the Policemen calmed them down and got some order restored. In the middle of it all, was one Black man rollin’ on the floor in laughter that had seen the entire thing happen and could not wait to write it down in his journal.
The epilogue to this story….
They had not cleaned up the suitcase they exploded so you could see it as you came up the stairs. No bomb inside, but hella burnt up underwear, t-shirts, socks, shaving cream and papers. I stood up on a chair in the area to get a better view of the area to catch a glimpse of my friend. I was able to see the person whose suitcase it was they blew up. There was this loud, “What the fuck?!” Ok, that was not said. I actually heard a loud yell in Arabic but I am sure that is what the person was saying. At least it is what I would have said. And personally, the man should count himself lucky they only blew up his bag. The man looked like Osama’s Uncle on his daddy’s side 3rd removed. Seriously, he had the full beard, turban, flowing robes and everything. If he would have left his bag like that in a New York airport, they might have attached him to the bag and blown him up with it just to play it safe. Then when his family came to inquire about their relative, they would have arrested them for conspiracy for terrorism and shipped them to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.
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