That’s pretty ridiculous, considering some of the outfits I’ve seen regular travelers wear. Actually, I don’t care what people wear (or don’t wear) as long as they’ve made at least some effort to cleanse themselves.
It’s a case of the golden rule. He who has the gold makes the rules. The airlines gives you a free ticket, but says you you can’t wear shorts, you don’t wear shorts.
Seems simple enough to me.
This actually happened to a co-worker’s boyfriend, 20+ years ago - he somehow got on the WRONG PLANE. I think the gate attendant wasn’t paying close attention, and clearly neither was HE. His flight was one gate over. IIRC, the airline took care of getting him to his destination - albeit a bit late - because it was at least partly their fault.
My funniest story was back in 1988 - I was flying from Indianapolis to Raleigh, changing flights in Atlanta. Note that this was the day before Thanksgiving.
At the Indy airport, they announced that they were overbooked and offering a free roundtrip ticket to anywhere in the US if you volunteered to get bumped. I went up and said that I would, if they could get me to Raleigh that night. The attendant checked, “mumble mumble change in Washingtion National and there’s room on that flight”… what she DIDN’T check was whether there was room on the flight from Indy to Washington. So I went standby on that. Fortunately they had ONE seat - I was the last one on. And of course I had to go from one end of the terminal to the other in Washington - down some fairly narrow passages, and with rather little time to spare. Sprinted - I don’t think I knocked anyone down but wouldn’t swear to it. Made my flight - just in time. So I got to Raleigh about 2 hours later than planned. My poor husband had been at the airport to meet the planned flight and was pretty worried until he thought to check our answering machine.
My only other memorable airport experience was back in 2005. We were travelling back from Phoenix, AZ to Baltimore, with the kids - on New Year’s Day. I think there may have been some kind of football bowl game in town the day before also. So, the airport was the worst kind of mob I have EVER seen. Half-hour wait to check our bags (which mostly did not make the flight). Half-hour wait to get through security (the fellow in front of us in line almost certainly missed his flight).
This was Southwest, with first-come, first-served seating and with 2 young kids. And they just had categories on the boarding passes (group A, B and so on), not numbers within the categories. So we were just a little worried about the seating.
Arrived at the gate JUST as they were doing preboarding. My kids weren’t young enough that we could rationalize line-jumping for that reason… but I’d planned ahead - and fallen and injured myself a few days before. With an arm in a sling (broken elbow) and a severe limp (badly bruised muscle which still has a dent in it), and a lot of pain, I didn’t feel too bad about going in with the early crowd.
Gotta love flight attendants with a sense of humor. When we flew to Vegas in the summer of 2010, our flight out of Baltimore was delayed nearly 2 hours. One hour before boarding, then we were stuck on the runway for an hour. Weather, I think.
So as we’re landing in Vegas (and I’d forgotten to check the time zone so I really didn’t know what time it was there), the head attendant got on the loudspeaker and started listing gates for other Southwest flights for passengers who were connecting - I think they’d held some of them. And at the end of her spiel, she added “. However, if you’re connecting on another airline, good luck with that”. OK, if I’d been one of those people I’d have been pissed, but since this was our destination, we thought it was funny.
On a flight into Logan, the plane hit the runway HARD - as in bins popped open and a few oxygen masks fell down. The attendant did the “welcome to Boston” thing and people just started cracking up.
I’ve had one slightly silly flight- It was 1998, and we were on the way back from a family holiday in Kenya, with an 8-hour stopover in Rome. Spent the day looking round the place, but not the Vatican, 'cos they wouldn’t let me in wearing shorts, despite all the nekkid pics on the walls.
The flight back turned out to be booked during the football World Cup Final (the one the world calls football 
), taking place in France, which was the sole topic of conversation in the airport. Most of the people on the flight were either British or Italian, both of whom take their football very seriously in general, so everyone was glued to the televisions in the terminal until the very last minute.
When we got on, we discovered the preoccupation didn’t end there; through the whole flight, the announcements were in the form ‘We will be arriving in Heathrow in 45 minutes, and France is winning 2-0,’ followed by a chorus of cheers, then halfway through the flight, we had a sudden annoucement that if we looked out of the left-hand side of the plane, the stadium in which the game was being held was clearly visible, so they tilted the plane and everyone on board rushed to the windows (I already had a window seat, and a jolly good view, so no rushing required). So I can claim I’ve seen a World Cup Final in person, even if it was from 20,000 feet. I swear it was nowhere near the normal flight path either. 
The only other slightly awesome flight I’ve been on was taking off from Newark, having just changed flights, and being all annoyed because half the airport shops were shut because it was 4th July. We took off at dusk, then circled for what seemed like ages; fireworks look so pretty from above! As do Aussie bushfires, incidently- a lot nicer from that height!
One last one worth a mention; when flying out from Heathrow on a school visit to Germany- the airport lost all power for about 40 minutes, and we all had to sit there under the single murky skylight, the only light source. The teacher taking us was terrified of flying at the best of times. He didn’t find that reassuring. I was one of the few totally not scared, and I may have been a little… umm… evil… when it came to comments. 
I once took a severed boar’s head (with all four tusks!) through the airports in Maui and Honolulu.
I’m not sure which Agriculture/Customs official was most horrified: the one who opened the end with the face (and four tusks!) or the one who was confronted with the extremely gory severed end of the neck.
Travel can be so broadening!
I was surprising my mother the day before Thanksgiving, busy travelling day. I was going from Jackson, MS to Newark, New Jersey. Had a layover in Cincinnati (actually Kentucky). Three concourse, busiest travelling day of the year…I went to the wrong concourse and ended up downstairs at international arrivals…
I must have looked like the long lost relative of 3 ladies from Italy…I got off the elevator and was immediately swarmed by them. They were yelling, “Maria” and trying to hug me…I kept saying, “Not Maria!!!”…poor Maria was standing over at the other side, waving her arms at the ladies…I think they finally understood my pantomiming and they turned around and gave the REAL “Maria” the welcome that she deserved…
My mother caught wind of my coming home because my cousin refused to talk to her for 2 weeks and my stepdad told her that he was picking a friend’s son up at the airport…
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I’ve used the same off-site parking for years. Hadn’t flown in a while & when I pull in, I vaguely notice a new logo but don’t pay much attention. Only when I get off the plane coming home does it dawn on me - new logo was with a new name; which I have absolutely no clue what it is. I know *where *my car is parked, but don’t know which shuttle bus will get me there. :smack:
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Work trip, mid-December. East coast to San Fran, meeting with a vendor then next morning on to Hawaii (this is a big deal - no one goes to Hawaii). Given most of my travel is East Coastish & I live in a hub city I never fly either United or American (why fly out to a midwest hub & then connect to come back when I can fly direct in less time.) Well I get to the airport & misread my pass, instead of United flight 48 *, I go to gate 48, right next door, at gate 47 is an American flight going to Honolulu leaving at the exact same minute, with a long checkin line. I’m mindlessly standing there waiting my turn; surely the plane won’t leave with this big line of people. Well finally the gate agent gets on the PA, “Don’t worry we won’t leave anyone, flight 1234 to Honolulu will depart as soon as we get everyone in.” WTF! I’m not on flight 1234!
I now go sprinting thru to another terminal, making it with minutes (seconds?) to spare, when the correct gate agent chastises me for being so late. I tell her my tale of woe & it only gets worse when she tells me she’s given away my first class seat (first class! - we don’t fly first class, & to Hawaii no less!). Well I quietly let out a blue streak - no not at her, she’s not the dumbass who was standing in the wrong line & lost their first class ticket. :smack: She checks me in & I go slinking down the jetway, muttering all the way.
Luckily, she takes pity on me because as I hit the plane & start to turn right, I hear, “Mr. Spiderman, follow me.” We turn left up toward the nose. We stop in front of a nicely settled in passenger, who is now dispatched back to be with the rest of the bovines in cattle class.
You know those little windows in the plane that you get about ½ of one in each row in cattle; you get 4 of them in first class in a United 747! On the way to Hawaii! In December! I loved that job!
- numbers may have been changed to protect the innocent.
I used to take the occasional processing job in Alaska, and my friend would work at Denali during the summers. Our leave schedules were generally within a day or two of each other’s, so whoever was the first one there would leave notes around Sea-Tac <airport, not the strip-town> for the other to find when it was THEIR turn to spend 12 hours waiting for the morning flight. Was neat. 
I was once riding in a small regional twin (I forget which plane) that did not have a bulkhead between the pilots and the dozen or so passengers. After takeoff I witnessed a coin arcing thru the air in the cockpit, and the loser of the toss mouthing “Crap!”. For a minute, I was really concerned about what vital piloting decision had been made with a coin flip. I relaxed when I saw the loser pick up a small cooler and begin handing out sodas. They were deciding who had to be the stewardess for that leg.
Late one night when overflying the Dallas Fort Worth area (I was the pilot this time), I listened to the regional controller deliver every clearance and instruction in rhyme. Every single one. He did it with a sort of hip-hop beat and managed a consistent cadence and rhyme for every plane he talked to. This continued for at least 15 minutes until I was handed off to the next controller. I’ve always wished I could have recorded that, as he was pretty amazing.
Yes, it’s simple, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid. If the airline gave you a free ticket but said you had the spend the entire flight with your finger up your nose, would you do it? Again, simple rule, but stupid.
Late night watches and special watches can be boring and making up poetry is a longstanding Navy tradition. Especially midwatch new years - when Rob was standing that watch in the ER in Portsmouth Naval Hospital back in the late 80s he did the traditional midwatch log in rhyme - something about ‘What do you do with a sucking chest wound’ to the tune and rhyme scheme of ‘Drunken Sailor’.
I once had a layover in Denver, and we sat at the gate for about an hour and a half while they tried to figure out how to refuel the plane with a sippy cup. Every 15 minutes the pilot would tells us that we would take off in 15 minutes, and give us the score of the NBA championship. While annoyed, most passengers were happy that the Celtics were winning.
In a non-airport related story, last year I went to see a production of West Side Story. During the intermission, an dignified announcement came over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement. The Bruins are winning 2-0.” I was amazed at how many people left the theatre to go watch the game.
Not so much stupid as a holdover from the days when people did dress to fly. Apparently no one has complained enough to get it changed.
In the airport: I had been visiting Zyada before we were married, and had to change flights somewhere (I’ve seen airports all over the western US, so I don’t remember.) The attendant at the gate directed me to my new plane: “That way. It’s a komg way but there’s lots of time.” So I walk, and walk, and walk some more. Being bored by now, I checked my ticket again, and started reading all the pages of fine print on the back. Eventually I looked up, and thought I had stumbled into the Twilight Zone - there was nobody around, no scales or computers at the desks, only vacant spots where the stores belong, nothing. I kept walking, hoping to come out somewhere, and finally saw a uniformed man coming through a door. He explained that they had built a new terminal between the two old ones, but didn’t have the money to finish it, and that I was still on the right path for my flight.
In the air: I was seated next to a little girl, maybe two or three years old, with her mother on the other side. She was going to see her husband, who was directing a play in Vancouver. While we were chatting, the kid wanted to play, so I made a sock puppet out of a cloth bag she had, which fascinated her. By the time I was bored, she took the bag and figured out how to do a puppet with it, and amused herself for quite some time.
Up in Arviat, NU and heading to the airport for a flight. The plane was scheduled for 10:30 and we were headed there at about 9:45 (we would have left earlier, but the one taxi in Arviat picks you up when it is ready and coming around again).
Driving to the airport (Arviat is about two kms from the airport, with nothing around in any direction) we see a plane taking off. Hmmm…I hope that’s not ours I think.
Yep.
We walk in and the ticket agent says, “Oh, the flight got here early, so it left early. We put you on the 4:00 flight.” We were the only passengers but since people are cheap to fly and cargo is expensive, they just loaded our seats sull of stuff (garbage probably) and took off. It’s so surreal to fly in the Arctic. No use getting fussed, one of the local RCMP guys came out and drove us back to the hotel and we hung out for the day.
With that in mind, the local Canadian Rangers met us at the airport when we initially landed, and drove us to our hotel on their skidoos. We were like rockstars.
Noting too exciting, but:
Honolulu Airport, 2005. Flying back to Bangkok on China Airlines. Went through Immigration at something like 5am, then a short time later learn that the flight was delayed. Delayed all day. Something wrong with the plane, and a new one had to be flown in from Taipei. So we’re in limbo. As an American, I probably could have ditched the wife and gone down to Waikiki for the day or something, but I gallantly stayed with her. Since she always keeps a 10-year visa in her passport, we probably could have gotten her back into the country officially, but we didn’t feel like putting up with the hassle. Hung out in the airport bar.
That was similar to when I moved from Albuquerque to Honolulu. My evening flight to Los Angeles was delayed all night because of some big fuel spill in Arizona. I forget the airline, maybe Southwest, but its flights all over the region were screwed. Was supposed to spend a few hours with my aunt and uncle before my Honolulu leg, but all we finally had time for was a quick breakfast at LAX.
Ho Chi Minh Airport, 2010. Flying back to Bangkok on the day of one of the riots. I was wearing a mostly blue shirt, but it had some small splashes of yellow. The helpful Vietnamese immigration officer laughed while warning me of wearing yellow to Bangkok. (The factions here are the red shirts and yellow shirts.) He then did an imitation of a machine gun with his hands while mouthing sound effects, then laughed some more.
Flying from San Francisco to Kuala Lumpur we had a four hour layover in Singapore. We were very concerned that our 5-year-old son, who has profound autism and (at that age) had no patience to speak of, would get bored and tantrum. But it turned out to be no problem. He wandered and I followed, and he discovered the (seemingly) miles of high-speed, moving walkways connecting distant parts of the airport. I had to drag him away when it was time for our flight.
Another time, I hadn’t seen my family in Texas for a long time. A friend had won the ESPN ‘13th man’ contest and got to go to all of his teams away games for the season. (Included was; limo service from home to the airport and back, first class flights both ways, limo to the hotel and back, limo to the game and back, and close up 50 yard line seats. For four.) He invited us along when the Chiefs went to Houston, even though my family was way up in Dallas. A few family members drove down to Houston and we had a nice little reunion, but the Interesting part was at DFW where we changed flights. My Dad surprised us by meeting us at the gate. The plane had been delayed and we were in danger of missing our flight to Houston. Dad had already figured this out and had figured out the fastest way to get us all the way across the huge airport, in time. We had a nice visit with him on the tram ride and long walks, and despite rushing we were the last to board. I don’t think we would have made it if Dad hadn’t been there.
This is a “ya had to be there story” but I’ll give it a go.
The funniest time I ever got was flying back to Los Angeles from Philadelphia. I’m sitting across from a cute little Mexican couple, late fifties or sixties.
We’re coming in for the landing. As soon-- and I mean RIGHT as soon-- as the rear wheels touch the ground, the husband stands up and opens the overhead and starts to unload his and his wife’s bags. He’s already got two bags out when the FRONT wheels hit the tarmac. He’s like, "Okay!"and starts speaking Spanish to his wife really quickly, like giving instructions to her. We’re still going, what, like 220 MPH?
So the flight attendant comes over and is looking at this man as if he’s got four heads made out of pizza. She’s, like, “SIR! YOU HAVE TO GET BACK IN YOUR SEAT!!!”
This is when the husband actually says, "Que?"sounding like Manuel from Fawlty Towers. He starts to sit down, throwing the bags from the overhead to his wife when the attendant stops him. “Sir! You have to keep the large bags in the overhead until the seat belt sign is off!” She ended up putting the bags back up for him and the man got in his seat.
Sure enough, I’m smiling and holding back the laughs best I can when the guy behind me (also watching) busts a gut. “WHOOOO HOOO HOOO HOOOOO! HAHAHAHA!” I’ve got tears streaming down my face at this. Several people crack up like me, the wife has her hand on her head. Poor thing.
To add even a little more, we get to the gate and the Husband gets up when we get to the gate, but the seat belt sign is still on. The attendant sees him, points and sign, then Husband, and he says. “Okay.” Sits back down again.
In August of 2007, I left for an 18-day trip to Spain, a trip that I’d been planning for over a year. Or at least those were my plans.
After a series of delays, I finally arrived at the Madrid airport at noon. I went through customs and to the baggage pick-up area. My luggage was not there, and I was told that they’d be forwarded to my hotel. Fine. I went to an ATM, withdrew a few hundred Euros, put them in my wallet, and proceeded to the Metro station, to get to my hotel. As I went to deposit money into the ticket machine, I realized that my wallet was missing. Right out of my front pocket that zipped shut.
I filed a report with the airport police. Beyond that, they were no help whatsoever. I explained to them that I had no money other than some small U.S. pocket change, and no way to get money. I asked them what other people do in this situation, and they just didn’t respond. I tried to borrow a couple Euros so I could get to my hotel, but no deal.
I knew that if I could make it to the hotel, I could get on the phone and get my trip back on track, but there was no way to get to the hotel. I also knew that once I was reunited with my luggage, I’d at least have the “emergency” money I always stash away in each bag. But there was no way to get to the hotel. I even entertained thoughts of panhandling or hitchhiking, but was very reluctant to do this in a foreign city.
I kept checking about my luggage, and was now told that it wouldn’t get to Madrid till the next day, or later.
So I couldn’t think of any other option, other than simply going back home. It felt like my vacation was already ruined, and I should just cut my losses and head home. I had the electronic ticket for my return flights on me, so all I had to do was to exchange it for an earlier flight.
To make a very long story very short, I finally was able to get on a flight the next day, after spending 19 hours in the Madrid airport, and it took me 2.5 days to get home . . . by way of Casablanca, Caracas and NYC.
Then I was informed that the flight to Cleveland had been canceled. But I was finally reunited with my luggage. So they put me up in a Ramada Inn, plus a food voucher. So for the first time since leaving home, I could take a shower, change clothing, sleep in a bed and eat real food.
The following year I returned to Spain . . . wearing an around-the-neck wallet with a slash-proof cord . . . and had a wonderful time.