Breakfast Anyone?

My last venture home from North Carolina brought yet another interesting airport experience.

This was not quite as exciting as closing out the 2018 work year by missing my connecting flight because I was watching NCIS episodes on Netflix while idiotically seating myself at the wrong gate.

On that trip, I managed to incorrectly read numbers. I sat at Gate 14 rather than Gate 12.

Let me back pedal a little here and not take all the blame.

I was seated very close to a counter, which had the flight information for Gates 12-14 posted and attendants at the counter. I expected this was where the announcements would be made.

However, since I fly so frequently, I should have known to look at the actual door leading to the plane and home to my wife.

Instead, I sat down, ass-u-me-ing I was naturally in the right place. Then, I popped out my iPad, plugged-in my headphones, and queued some already downloaded episodes of NCIS, immersing myself in the world of Agent Gibbs and his team.

NCIS is my generation’s version of Law & Order.

As I was midway through my second episode, it occured to me I had been waiting a long time. Maybe my flight was delayed. In fact, I am sure it was since flying is terrible. These airlines and their constant delays. They should be ashamed of themselves.

I approached the counter to find the information posted as “Boarded.”

This can NOT be true, I’m not on board.

Apparently, sitting at the wrong gate with headphones in my ears like a millennial resulted in missing the announcements from my correct gate attendant who called me by name over the PA system to no avail.

Result:

1) Real life detention. Get home four hours later than planned.

2) Humiliation. Well-deserved humiliation. I could literally hear my father recanting his favorite phrase to use at times like these - “Good thing you went to college.”

No, this current experience was just entertaining people watching, which is my new favorite airport hobby to pass the time since I cannot be trusted to watch NCIS anymore.

As usual, I had some time to kill. I bought a coffee and found a seat next to the window. It was cold outside, but sunny, as opposed to the constant grey and rain following me for the past month.

From my window seat, I could see all the little airport mobiles moving around below, following all those crazy painted lines. Those lines make as much sense to passengers as looking down on a playing field simultaneously painted to provide play for football, soccer, and lacrosse.

Only the drivers know the meaning and rules for those lines, and they negotiate them accordingly and at fairly impressive speeds.

I watched these mini-mobiles, seeing luggage trains, fuel trucks, the staircase mobiles, and the tows for assisting the airplanes to the gate.

Then, for the first time l saw a “Lavatory Waste Vehicle.”

It makes sense. Obviously, this is a part of air travel needing attention, service, and maintenance. Although it caught me off-guard being my first sighting, its existence did not shock me.

What did, however, make me laugh out loud while sitting alone at my table sipping coffee was the driver.

I may not, scratch that, I am definitely not the most hygienic person on earth. I abide by the 5-second rule. I have also been known to use my pant leg or the inside of my pocket as a napkin. I have even Costanza’d items my wife has recently tossed in our kitchen trash and are sitting on top in their sealed containers begging to be rescued.

However, when I looked down at the “Lavatory Waste Vehicle” (a.k.a. turd truck, poop porter, or honeywagon) to see the driver eating her breakfast sandwich barehanded while driving this mobile feces pick-up and delivery vessel, I drew the line.

She was in a whole different league of nonchalance.

If you haul and transfer human waste all day in that thing, your feeding should take place elsewhere.