Describe a scene in a busy airport
The smell of jet fuel, automobile exhaust, and hot tarmac combined to assault the senses with images of exotic escapes and the kind of freedom that can only come from air travel. People listened to MP3's and texting on their phones, a couple behind me chatted about the weather in Florida and the possibility of a rain fall, their faces tightened at the thought of the horrible weather they could face. I recognized the smell of fading perfume that women were wearing. Chanel, Lady Million and flower bomb clashed with the smell of fresh pizza and refrigerated sandwiches.
Glancing out of the widely spread windows I caught a glance of the aeroplane, wheels situated on the concrete ground as the mechanical, yet pleasant, voice on the public address system called for someone to go to the nearest telephone booth, or announcing that flight 896 is now boarding at gate 11.
A little boy with chestnut locks, ivory skin and frightened emerald eyes, stood shivering in the departure lounge. His mother stressed, throwing the large suitcases onto the baggage stand chaotically. Families rushed to the eating area manically like a herd of elephants. Hundreds of shops, cafés and newsagents covered the airport; extremely obsessive travellers acquiring pointless souvenirs filled the distance. Colossal groups of siblings pushed into the crowds, excitedly. The vigorous aroma of coffee and tea entered peoples nostrils, women dressed in business suits with small black cases and laptops set up at the tables indulged in a croissant from the coffee shop. They sat all smartly dressed with faces full of heavy pilled make-up and hair neatly tied up compact with hairspray and glitter.
Departure and arrival times were declared repeatedly; 'Flights to Alicante will have a delay of 2 hours due to critical weather conditions on the boarders'. Angry, sharp red faces sat on the grey, cold hard chairs waiting impatiently for their delayed flight.
to the left of the...
On a trip to Morocco my girlfriend and I were characteristically late for the return flight. We had traveled by bus from Chefchauen, a well known cannabis producing region, to the capital, Rabat, and it had been a rather long uncomfortable journey. It was made a lot worse by the fact that for the last couple of days i had had a rather "loose" stomach.
We got to the airport with about forty minuted until our flight took off, so we rushed through check in, changed what little money we had left, pushed to the front of the passport queue and then tried to get through security. At that point, we were rather flushed from all the rushing, and I, more than I previously thought was possible, needed the toilet.
Inevitably, the guy in security pulled us to one side to take a closer look at our bags. And after emptying everything decided he should get another security guard to take a further look. I then made the mistake of telling him that I very much would like to go to the toilet while we waited because i had quite a bad stomach. He asked if i had taken any thing to which i replied, i have -- some Imodium -- but it hadn't helped. He then asked if i needed to have a doctor to check out my stomach, I said that i was OK, I just really needed to toilet.
I then realised that we had very different understandings of what was wrong. Telling me that he knew that I came to the airport from Chefchauen - he must have checked my exit visa or guessed - he suggested that my bad stomach might be something to do with all the drugs I had taken or was smuggling in my stomach. I was looked nervous he told me. I tried to explain that I needed the loo. At that point, out came two armed police officers with sniffer dogs, and we were dragged to the corner of security and we waited, confident if a little nervous, for them to check out our bags.
I then got taken to an interview room, where a police officer poked at my stomach while quizzing me about my drug consumption habits. I told him that "of course there is cannabis in Chefcauen" -- you get offered it all the time -- but "of course i didn't take any." He then said, after a little conferring, that I I would have to wait while they found a doctor to "examine me." I tried to explain, once more, that this was a big misunderstanding and I just needed to go to the toilet but the more I remonstrated the more it seemed inevitable that i would end up with a latex gloved hand exploring my most intimate parts.
We waited, my girlfriend in tears; the police now were giggling and taking what seemed to be a remarkable amount of joy from our misery. Eventually somebody arrived to examine me: the original security officers. I asked about their medical credentials but i was told i didn't have a choice.
Round the corner I went with him. We stopped outside a disabled toilet and he pointed to the door. Finally! I thought. And then it became obvious that the disabled toilets were in fact the examining room and he was coming in with me. He then told me that he was going to check if i was lying or not and told me that if i needed to go i should go now in a rather threatening tone, although he might have just been pissed off that he had drawn the short-straw of watching me defecate.
I was just about to ask if he could leave me alone while i went, but i no longer cared. Down came my trousers, and while I enjoyed an explosive, thundering poo, my bottom turning temporarily into an aerosol of faeces, i looked up at him and with a smug smile that said "well i did tell you." After a minute or so, he left me to it. And by the time i returned my girlfriend was packing our bags once more, still a little shaken and uncertain as to where they had taken me.
The plane ended up being delayed, so we even got our flight. But it's taught me a lot. There are always bastard cops where ever you are; learning your rights is up there with remembering your passport; and make sure you carry money in case you need to bribe somebody in a disabled toilet in an airport in order to get home.