Airport etiquette: The stress, delays, and rigmarole of flying

As I join you this week, dearest readers, I would like to thank you. By writing this piece, I have been saved from the dark depths of summer holiday obscurity. And by dark, I mean very dark. Really quite dark actually. Dark. You have saved me from a DVD omnibus of Blackadder Goes Forth, and from endless days spent looking up cheat codes for Assassin’s Creed Mirage. Doesn’t get much darker than that, does it? 

And yet all of this is merely an attempt to while away the hours until the arrival of that greatest of great joys…the family holiday. Which brings us nicely on to the inevitability of airports. Airports are lawless, liminal spaces where societal rules don’t apply. So together, we will deconstruct the multi-faceted phenomenon of what I like to call “airport behaviour” – with no further references to Blackadder, I promise.

Boarding gates. 31 minutes until your flight. You are supposed to proceed to Gate 2,721 immediately

Exhibit one: Security. The one thing standing in the way of you and your flight, which leaves in 43 mins. Have you put all your liquids into those fiddly 100ml containers that you wouldn’t use in any other walk of life? On to the walk-through scanner now. The security guard regards you with disgusted suspicion; he appears convinced that you and your little brother Danny (who is wearing a Lightning McQueen t-shirt) are the newest members of an underground terrorist organisation, come to terrorise the innocent passengers of [insert name of busy airport here]. Through the scanner without being frisked (Phew!). But in the meantime, your hand-luggage has been seized by an overly impatient security guard who is rifling through piles of your dirty boxers to find and discard (with malevolent glee), the minutiae of metal in the friendship bracelet that set off their sensors, and which you forgot was even in there. “It’s the clasp on this bracelet thingy”, she explains to you in a how-could-you-have-been-so-stupid tone. She launches the bracelet into the bin, and you walk away in shame and disgrace. 

Exhibit two: Boarding gates. 31 minutes until your flight. You are supposed to proceed to Gate 2,721 immediately. You haven’t had lunch yet though, and by the time you land it will be late afternoon. Besides, the queue in MaccyD’s looks like it is moving fairly quickly…

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Fifteen minutes later, your £16.99 Big Mac and Fries arrives, and it is time (in the words of Ant and Dec) for you to “get ready to rumble“. The PA system foreshadows your impending doom: “Last Call for Flight 579031 to Lanzarote, now boarding at Gate 2,721”. On your frantic sprint to the Gate 2,721 (trailing fries covered in garlic-mayo), you ignore the friendly mumblings of the unshaven gentleman who has been sat at the bar since 5 a.m. on Tuesday with approximately his 57th glass of Jack Daniels. And you disregard the surprisingly enthusiastic salespeople in Duty Free, who seem to think that a £139.99 bottle of Dior perfume is exactly what you’ve been missing for your summer getaway. 

Despite all this, you still make it onboard before the large majority of Speedy Boarders – who have paid an inordinate amount of money for the privilege of being released into the boarding tunnel thirty seconds before everyone else

Exhibit three: Passport control and baggage. You made it to the boarding gate with seven minutes to spare. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to dodge a £72 surcharge for over-sized carry-ons – despite your Joey Tribbiani antics in which you get out and wear all of your holiday clothes in front of the unmoved stewardess. Despite all this, you still make it onboard before the large majority of Speedy Boarders – who have paid an inordinate amount of money for the privilege of being released into the boarding tunnel thirty seconds before everyone else. After another half an hour sat motionless on the runway, the pilot informs you that you have missed your take-off window because there was a 10mm HB pencil on the runway. You settle in for a long flight. 

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Four hours later you have finally reached passport control at the receiving airport. The overhead signs indicating the two different queues for the E-gates seem to mock you. One points out that all the nice, fraternal, law-abiding EU citizens can join the queue which leads on to a fleet of around 15 gates – each attended by a squadron of stewards. This line barely reaches the “Please queue here” sign. The other commands all British passports and other jingoistic scumbags to proceed to the queue of no more than three E-gates (one of which isn’t working), and a steward who is wearing a T-shirt that reads “I couldn’t care less, and neither should you”.

Above all, you are safe in the knowledge that the comforting rigmarole of “airport behaviour” awaits your return in just seven days’ time!

After several exhilarating moments of incomprehensible gestures with said steward, you have to join the manual queue anyway; the E-gate didn’t work because you left your sunglasses on your head. You finally receive your suitcase from Baggage Reclaim. Whilst there, you have engaged in the obligatory ritual of standing over the conveyor-belt with all the other passengers (it makes the bags come quicker!) and muttering under your breath in a way that only British people can. 

Having achieved this, you emerge from the airport to the promise of a joyous holiday of fine-dining, relaxation, and sunburn. Above all, you are safe in the knowledge that the comforting rigmarole of “airport behaviour” awaits your return in just seven days’ time!