I swear O’Hare Airport, Chicago is the true physical reincarnation of Hell on earth. Why it was designed with vast cathedral ceilings is quite beyond me. I sit here by the security checkpoints waiting hopefully for the queue to subside before presenting myself for the next indignity to be heaped on my person by over-officious petty officialdom. Having been “hand-patted” all over once, prior to my flight into Chicago, I feel fairly secure in the knowledge this time will be worse.
The racket in Terminal 5 is cacophonous. One expects a fairly substantial background hum with so many people milling about, but it is the fraught shrieks and screams of officialdom that overlay the more polite conversing of the multitude.
In their infinite wisdom, Homeland Security has, it was announced, raised the scare level to “Orange”. Of course, they referred to it by a more official phrase than “scare level”, but it meant the same thing.
Taking full advantage of the opportunity to be even bossier than usual, an overly-large black, unformed lady vigorously thrusts unsuspecting passengers through the barriers while shrieking to the world, at the full decibel level of her cavernous lungs:
“Make sure yer go’ yer passperts and burdin’ pesses in yer hands, now!”
Finally, I negotiate security and make the relative peace and quiet of the boarding gate. I am due to board for the long haul across the Atlantic, in just a few minutes.
Hopefully, I will arrive safely in Manchester, England, while America sleeps. It will be 8.30 am England, but only 2.30am in the US.
Sleep well, America.
Filed under: Joy of travel