I have been to a few airports. Not many. But a few.
I don't think I've been to enough to say that I am worthy of making meaningful critiques and comparisons ... BUT there is an airport that makes me break out in hives even hearing its name.
And to make things worse, I am returning to this airport very soon on YOLO Trip 2018. And I am scared beyond belief.
Not for any other reason but the fear of another 12+ -hour delay with no food, water, seating, electrical outlets (unless you squeeze by the vending machines and swap a chord), and explanations. I mean, no biggie.
NAHHT.
This airport (which shall remain nameless)* caused me to reflect on my life and my choices right then and there. Like, why didn't I just pay a little more money for a more mainstream airline company? Why didn't I eat breakfast that morning? All I had to eat that day was:
Also, why didn't I take a certain language in high school so I could ask someone what the heck was going on?!
Anyway, this airport was/is by far the worst.
However, there was a scarier experience for me at a different airport that I wish to share today.
Though I had the basic amenities at my disposal (food, water, an actual seat), things got dicey in this particular instance, in my dramatic opinion....
Airport: Barcelona
Direction: On the way home from our long weekend
Situation: Name over the loudspeaker at the gate
So YOLO Trip 2017 was pure perfection. Almost every minute was utilized the way we wanted it - whether that meant bargain shopping and negotiating the prices of authentic items... or sitting on a step by the waterfront eating churros (you can guess which one was me).
The bottom of the bag.
By the time we arrived back at the airport to get home and sleep for 6 hours so we could be back at work the next day, we were beyond exhausted.
When we finally collapsed at the gate, we mellowed out and sat listening to music, reading, or off buying food for the ride back independently. Suddenly we heard one of our names over the loudspeaker, along with a few others. The person asked that those who were called needed to bring their items to the check-in with their passport.
Well, if you remember from back in the days of elementary school... when your name was called over the loudspeaker, it probably sent a slight chill down your spine. My friend; however, was calm cool and collected. She went up to the gate, not needing a friend to go with her, as I would have insisted.
As the minutes ticked by and our friend was nowhere to be seen... we began to get nervous. What had happened to her? Was it like Stranger Things where she was sucked into the upside down, seemingly never to return, like Will?! #spoiler?
There wasn't much time to become nervous, though, because another list of people were being called toward the same fate. The announcer asked that if this group of people heard their name called, they would need to come to the gate check-in immediately with their luggage and passport, as well.
I didn't think much of it until....
...The list was being read again and I heard sounds and syllables eerily similar to my given name.
They completed the list and I decided to let it go. The voice had a very strong accent and the sounds may not have been what I thought I heard...
They called the 15 names again. Again, I paused at the 11th name with a strange feeling. It was so so similar. But no.
By the sixth time (and through a much shorter list, since most people had followed the directions and gone to the check-in), my friends had taken out their headphones, put down their books, and looked at me.
"I... I think that's you."
We listened again. I kid you not, this was maybe the eighth time they had read through the dwindling list. All the blood in my body was ice cold. I was having flashbacks of the time I had been taken to the "back room" of an airport because I had purchased wienerschnitzel for my father at a German airport and apparently authentic meats are looked down upon by the US government... but whatever.
Anyway, I was wracking my brain thinking ... did I make the same mistake? Had I purchased any cured meats in Barcelona? Are they going to send me to the Spanish Slammer?!
With trembling hands, I hoisted my duffel bag on top of my carry-on and rolled toward the check-in, as proudly as I could without looking back at my friends. With each step, my trembling feet propelled me to my ominous destiny: the great upside down, with my other friend who had gone missing earlier.
At the desk, I cleared my throat.
"Excuse me."
The lady was highlighting the last person's name to come up to the gate and meet their fate.
I tried again.
"Excuse me. I think you called my name..."
She looked up. There wasn't any fear in her eyes, unlike mine. And why would there be? She wasn't nervous about going to the back room due to cured meats!
"Name?" She questioned with a crack of her gum. Glad to see that's not just an American pasttime.
I gave her my name with whatever ounce of confidence I could muster in my voice.
"Say it again?" she asked, looking at the list and reaching for my passport held tightly in my outstretched arm.
I said it again.
Gulp.
.... "Uh, you're not on here."
I don't know why I didn't believe her, or why I prompted her to check again, but I had to be sure...
"You're sure?" I asked, stupidly.
She checked again. No.
And that was that.
I practically floated back to the spot where the rest of the group was waiting. I can only equate the feeling to waking up from a dream where you thought something terrible had happened, only to realize it was your vivid imagination at "rest".
Anyway.
I told my friends to shove a rubber hose up their nose, or something of that nature and then sat back down trying to calm my poor heart that eventually began beating again.
As I was calming those nerves by slumping into my seat, I almost immediately sat back up like Miss Clavel in Madeline, remembering that something was not right.
We needed to find out where our one friend had gone to, because she had not come back. She was not going to pull a "Will" on us.
... but at that moment we were being called onto the plane. Our friend had left so long ago, I realized, she must have gotten on before the rest of us! It made complete sense, and I filed onto the aircraft with a feeling of excitement to swap TSA stories with her once we were seated. I imagined her waiting for us and I would give her a hug and never let go . . .
(how perfect is this gif? 5-stars for accuracy)
But she wasn't there.
Full freak-out mode was activated and the remaining four of us began to wonder if we needed to get off the plane, call our boss, explain that we were spending an extra day abroad, channel our inner Liam Neeson, find our friend, and catch the next flight. Or. As one of the more calm members of the group suggested, "Just ask a flight attendant."
Since I was in the aisle and had been conversing with members of the Barcelona flight crew already that day, I walked over to the closest attendant and explained our predicament. He did not seem sure as to why our friend wasn't back yet, since most of the plane was seated and they were about to go through the pre-flight protocols. He said a few more people would be trickling on board, so if she did not show up in the next few minutes, let him know and he'd stop the plane... or something along those lines.
WHAT??????
I turned slowly, deep into planning Plan B, C, D, and Z when I saw the beautiful face of our missing friend walking toward us. It was like a beam of light from the heavens had come down and shined right on the face of our friend. Here she was. With us. Safe at last!
And then we had the flawless flight back.
The end.
Skålxx ... or should I say *addio!