Going Home - Part I

Oh what a day.

What does it say about LAX when the EASIEST thing was getting through immigration and customs? I am convinced that Dante foresaw this cluster and described it as at least one of the circles of Hell.

So, I get through those immigration and customs, and start dragging my luggage from the Tom Bradley International Terminal to the Delta terminal for my flight to San Diego.  It’s quite a haul, because you first have to pass the American Airlines terminal 4 doors before you get to the Delta Terminal 5 doors.  I finally get there, and try to check in, but the kiosk can’t find my flight based on any of the information I entered. So I scoured my little itinerary printout and discovered – this flight is on American. My bad. So I hauled my luggage back to terminal 4.

I got there and went to the kiosk and entered my info – and voila it found my flight! Which had been delayed by 2 hours. I specifically decided to suffer on an American Airlines flight just because it gave me the best arrival time. Well screw that. EVERY TIME I try to give American another chance they somehow manage to muck up the works.

Well I got checked in, took my suitcase, and discovered it was 4 lbs over the limit.  The limit that I had already paid $25 for. And this was after I had transferred some stuff from the suitcase to my backpack and put on an extra shirt. My options were moving stuff again, or paying $100. I went with the $100. When that transaction was complete, the “friendly” bag lady then told me I had to go to terminal SIX for my gate. To recap, I passed terminal 4 because I thought I needed to be at terminal 5, got there, discovered I needed to be in terminal 4, checked in, and then had to walk back to terminal 6.

By this time I am growing moist and kind of tired (12 hour flight, minimal sleep). At terminal 6 I went through security, and of course it’s basically a strip search since one guy on one flight one time years ago tried something bad with his shoes. I went through the full body scanner, and had to be patted down on my back. Apparently sweat pooled in your lower back shows up on the scanner.

And now, I sit in the gate that is the transfer point to my next gate. And the only electrical outlet I could find was in the men’s room. That felt awkward, standing there in the restroom entrance waiting for my phone to get up to 20%. At least I was able to help the gentleman, who needed a sit-down, by watching his daughter. Nothing odd at all about asking a stranger standing in the restroom to watch your young daughter while you have a poo.

What did we learn today kids? American Airlines still sucks. And LAX is still a cluster.

But hey, at least I’m on American soil again.