HadashiWorld

-i had the poor luck to come in right behind an entire herd of random middle-school-aged kids checking in. there were at least fifteen of them, all crazy-excited, loud, and running as amok as possible whilst still remaining in line. there was one, i repeat, ONE, chaperone, who just kept bleating helplessly: "IDs! everyone get out your IDs!" no one was listening. mercifully, an airline rep managed to corral them into a group check-in area. i could still hear the hapless chaperone's bleats as they were led away.
-the Korean couple behind me who had, very suspiciously, no luggage with them. both were dressed in the highest of high fashion. he had an enormous blingy designer watch, she was expensively clad in a tiny white dress with tiny strappy heels and a tiny -- no wait -- a huge amount of dangly jewelry. they were all over each other, and i mean ALL over. at one point i started wondering if the girl was simply unable to support her own tiny weight on her tiny strappy heels and had to drape herself over him so as not to slide onto the floor like a discarded coat. she was jabbering a mile a minute, and all the guy said was what i suspect is the Korean equivalent of a very bored "uh-huh." he sounded like the Axe Gang boss in the movie Kung Fu Hustle.
-then there was the line to give your suitcases to TSA. it was obviously that TSA was short-staffed or something, because it looked like a Soviet-era bread line in the terminal that morning. once i got through that, there was the line to get to the line to go through gate security. in front of me was Entitled To My Anger Man, who every three seconds would cast furious muttered imprecations at no one in particular. when he got to the front, he was instructed to place his carryon luggage into the metal cage to make sure it was regulation size. he flipped out, shrieking "do you realise i'm already late for my flight?" mind you, we all were in that category; the line for the line was literally out the door and snaking down the street. he was asked again. "it fits!" he insisted snottily. "you'll make me miss my flight. i don't have to do this!" he tried to proceed, but his way was abruptly blocked by an enormous TSA officer who had suddenly appeared. "You Will." he said, emphasizing his words as he loomed over Anger Man. "Do As You Are Told Immediately Or You Will. Most Certainly. Miss. Your. Flight." dude, if you're a scrawny Jewish guy wearing front-pleat Dockers, do NOT have a temper tantrum in front of a TSA officer whose previous career could have been NFL linebacker and can crush you with his pinky finger.
-in front of me in the gate security line was the Hustler Trio: two guys and a girl. all looked like members of a motorcycle gang, and collectively, they were sporting enough body piercing to make Swiss cheese jealous. in addition, they were carefully dressed in Official Badass Costume, which means lots of black with lots of metal accents protruding, such as rivets, spikes, and chains. their carryon "luggage" was a bag with the Hustler Store logo on it, containing what looked like one hooded sweatshirt and a copy of The South Beach Diet. when the metal detector went into beeping overdrive as their metal-studded bodies passed through, they had the gall to look shocked. as all three were diverted into the area where the Very Thorough security checks are performed, i could hear the girl cursing about the "big delay." news flash, honey: if TSA will confiscate things as benign as nail clippers, do you really think your weapon-like spike bracelet is going to make it through? and p.s. -- stop clicking your tongue piercing, for heaven's sake!
-the Mexican family behind me in the gate security line. their carryon "luggage" was the following: one large fuzzy NASCAR blanket, one box marked "genuine 1950s coin-operated pay phone," two large reproductions of Van Gogh's painting "The Starry Night," and one enormous battery-operated clock with a picture of the Last Supper featuring a very white Jesus that could light up in Three Different Colors. i am not making this up.
-i was advised to "proceed quickly" to my gate (translation: run like hell, please). i managed to squeak on board, and took my seat next to a very geeky standard business-dressed man. standard suit, tie, large glasses, bad haircut, pens in front pocket. he even had the standard business briefcase, from which he extracted the standard stack of Important Looking Charts. he spent the first ten minutes of the flight leafing through them, making notes and being serious. then he went back to the briefcase, took out a portable CD player and a collection of CDs. as he leafed through them, i shamelessly peeked: it looked like the entire catalogue of everything the Grateful Dead ever recorded. i have no idea how many albums were released, but he must have had them all. the geeky corporate drone rapidly changed into a tie-dyed hippie in his head as he slipped "Grateful Dead: Arista Years Vol. 2" into the player and put the headphones on. he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and played drum solos on his lap with his fingers. i didn't really mind; maybe he only had to get his corporate drone job after Jerry died, leaving him without a band to follow around. poor lost soul.

i could keep going, but then i'd never get to anything about Ireland. sigh. maybe i never will. sorry, HadashiWorld visitors, sometimes the entertainment of the human circus is more adventurous than the actual adventure-going. besides, i've got an early call time tomorrow and i need to get some sleep...