Hello folks, let’s chat…Remember my big honking announcement to never connect in Atlanta again, so help me Scarlet O’Hara? Yeah, I don’t blame y’all for laughing. It was only a matter of time.
On the bright side, I used my last visit to further develop my theory on Atlanta International. I believe the employees suffer from an extreme form of claustrophobia that has led them to create a top secret inside game. Think scavenger hunt. The gate changes are orchestrated to help them fill out their score cards. Points are awarded for documenting crying babies, fighting couples, and out of breath grandmothers trying to fake injuries to get onto one of those special needs trains, which I now agree is flat out wrong.
I’m pretty sure that sweet young thang at D33 got bonus points off my last Terminal Run. I arrived at her desk with seconds to spare and breathed out a cheery sort of moan. She knew the signs.
“Where’d you come from?”
“A21, sweetie. Check your screen.”
Her eyes widened as she noted my arrival time and computed my record setting feat, 5.3 minutes. I appreciated her high five. And the picture we took in celebration is a nice memento, but still.
If you aren’t playing Run That Terminal in Atlanta it’s usually because you’ve been drawn into their famous delay game. Sure, a plane leaves the Atlanta airport every thirty seconds but when you’re in Delay Purgatory none of them will be yours, silly. Don’t get comfortable. Should an airport employee notice you’ve set up your home away from home at one gate, they’ll switch your flight to another gate in a faraway time zone faster than you can say, “But, I didn’t get my Cinnabon.”
Fortunately, the airport has compensated for that distance with supersonic trams that run between concourses at the speed of light. FYI, when the nice intercom lady reminds you to brace yourself because the train’s departing, I wouldn’t consider that a mere suggestion unless you want to do the mosh pit thing into a sea of equally disgruntled travelers. Not that I’ve ever done that.