When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. - Hunter S. Thompson

23 April 2006

Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take you...

So I get to Newark Airport, about 6:15 on a Sunday morning. The cars are packed three deep at the curb, and there's a line 50 yards long for *curbside checkin.*

What the hell, I thinks to myself.

Inside the terminal, it's even worse: pure chaos at the checkin. I flag a passing Continental Airlines employee and ask, "Where the hell are all these people going?"

He grins. "You notice anything about this crowd?"

I scan the area. The demographic skews disproportionately young, white, and scruffy-affluent.

"Oooooooooooh," I say, smacking my forehead. "Spring Break."

"That's right," he said. "They're going to Aruba, Cancun, all the beaches."

I take a quick mental inventory of what I'd packed in the small rollaboard I had intended to check. Nothing that won't pass an x-ray or a bag search, except for a small pocketknife.

So I printed off a boarding pass at a "no bags" kiosk, paid a few bucks to mail my blade home to myself, and sailed through security upstairs... being a frequent flyer hath its privileges, as I was able to go straight to the Elite Access line (no waiting.) I'll check the bigger bag planeside and take my briefcase on board.

And now I'm cooling my heels in Continental's private lounge. Thank God they don't let these kids into the President's Club with the rest of us old fogies. A bunch of college kids and an open bar... (shudder)

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