MORNINGS SUCK
I awoke to the sound of loud voices booming outside my bedroom window and rolled out of bed. Through blurry eyes, I checked my bedside clock. 3:00 a.m., an hour before the alarm was due to disturb me. Outside, the voices continued their ear-piercing calls back and forth, now joined by the slamming of doors and the uneven bleat of a diesel engine warming up. I sighed and attempted to shut out the sounds of the next-door neighbours loading up their four-wheel drive and doing their best to wake the neighbourhood as they departed for their annual holiday to the beach.
Sighing, knowing further sleep was impossible, I turned off the alarm and stumbled into the shower. Scrubbed clean and dressed, I made myself a cup of much-needed coffee. As I sipped the hot liquid, I stood at the window and watched the neighbours piling into their car and, with horn blaring, roar out of the quiet court as if it were the middle of the day. In the houses closest to theirs, lights were blazing. Shaking my head, I wondered yet again why some people had to do everything at the tops of their voices, especially when leaving in the early hours of the morning or arriving home in the dead of night?
Half an hour later, revived by my caffeine fix, I locked my house, tip-toed out into my carport, flung my luggage into the car and, without shouting at anyone, departed as quietly as possible for Tullamarine Airport, about two hours away. At that time of morning, traffic was thankfully light and, despite changed and confusing traffic conditions in the city, I didn’t get lost and made good time. With the car securely parked, airport passes issued and baggage checked, I made my way through the array of security checks implemented since September, 2001.
As usual, something on my person triggered the metal detector, and I was sent back to further disrobe. I’d already removed my watch, belt and the contents of my pockets--eliminating those things that had, in the past, sent the detector into a frenzy--and searched my person for some other offending item. I had nothing metal on me. But wait. A helpful official attracted my attention and pointed to my new boots. Of course, they had metal rings fixed to the sides. I removed the offending items, placed them on the conveyor entering the scanner and stepped through the metal detector again, holding my pants at the waist as they threatened to fall down to my knees.
This time, I made it through without setting off any alarms, and retrieved my boots and other belongings, but I’d caught the eye of a burly bloke holding a baton in one hand and a bulky box-shaped object in the other. He gestured in my direction with the wand and nodded. With my belt, mobile phone, coins, wallet, pen and keys in a plastic tray in one hand and my boots in the other, I waddled toward him, legs spread to prevent my pants slipping down my thighs.
Other people wandered past, but the official seemed only interested in me.
“Have you been near any explosives recently?” he asked.
“Not that I know of.” How would I know if I had?
“Hold out your arms.”
I did as instructed, and he waved the wand over my upper body and then along my arms. More people wandered past, most frowning and shooting furtive glances in my direction.
Do they think I’m a terrorist of some sort? “Out of all of these people, why did you select me?” I asked as he moved the wand up and down the outsides of my legs.
“Your behaviour was suspicious.” He passed the wand up and down the insides of my legs.
“Suspicious? How?” Christ! What if I’ve got some substance on my clothes that he thinks is explosive?
“You seemed to be trying to confuse the metal detector.” He removed the wand and checked a dial on its fat end.
“Can I put my hands down now?”
“Of course, sir.” He sounded disappointed.
I placed everything on the floor at my feet, selected my belt and began to thread it through the hooks on the waist of my pants.
“You can’t get dressed here, sir,” said another official who’d suddenly appeared at my side.
“Can I go?” I asked the official with the wand.
“Yes. You’re clear.” He still sounded disappointed.
I grabbed my belongings and retired as far from the electronic gadgetry as I could, fastened my belt, replaced my boots on my feet and returned the other belongings to my pockets. At this point I realised I’d forgotten my carry bag and looked around for it. I soon spotted it at the collection point at the end of the conveyor leading from the scanner, two other officials staring at it as if they suspected it was a bomb.
Hurrying forward, I excused myself, retrieved my bag and took my leave, glad to have successfully negotiated this facet of my journey. As I strode across the vast expanse of the terminal, I checked my watch. 6:35 a.m. Still two hours before my flight was due to leave. I had time to partake of a hearty, healthy breakfast, but after what I’d just endured, decided on a burger and black coffee from Hungry Jack’s, topped off with a couple of Crispy Crème doughnuts.
Hunger pangs subdued and feeling much more human, I headed to the departure lounge, where I could await my flight and catch up on some reading.
Broometime Serenade
Sighing, knowing further sleep was impossible, I turned off the alarm and stumbled into the shower. Scrubbed clean and dressed, I made myself a cup of much-needed coffee. As I sipped the hot liquid, I stood at the window and watched the neighbours piling into their car and, with horn blaring, roar out of the quiet court as if it were the middle of the day. In the houses closest to theirs, lights were blazing. Shaking my head, I wondered yet again why some people had to do everything at the tops of their voices, especially when leaving in the early hours of the morning or arriving home in the dead of night?
Half an hour later, revived by my caffeine fix, I locked my house, tip-toed out into my carport, flung my luggage into the car and, without shouting at anyone, departed as quietly as possible for Tullamarine Airport, about two hours away. At that time of morning, traffic was thankfully light and, despite changed and confusing traffic conditions in the city, I didn’t get lost and made good time. With the car securely parked, airport passes issued and baggage checked, I made my way through the array of security checks implemented since September, 2001.
As usual, something on my person triggered the metal detector, and I was sent back to further disrobe. I’d already removed my watch, belt and the contents of my pockets--eliminating those things that had, in the past, sent the detector into a frenzy--and searched my person for some other offending item. I had nothing metal on me. But wait. A helpful official attracted my attention and pointed to my new boots. Of course, they had metal rings fixed to the sides. I removed the offending items, placed them on the conveyor entering the scanner and stepped through the metal detector again, holding my pants at the waist as they threatened to fall down to my knees.
This time, I made it through without setting off any alarms, and retrieved my boots and other belongings, but I’d caught the eye of a burly bloke holding a baton in one hand and a bulky box-shaped object in the other. He gestured in my direction with the wand and nodded. With my belt, mobile phone, coins, wallet, pen and keys in a plastic tray in one hand and my boots in the other, I waddled toward him, legs spread to prevent my pants slipping down my thighs.
Other people wandered past, but the official seemed only interested in me.
“Have you been near any explosives recently?” he asked.
“Not that I know of.” How would I know if I had?
“Hold out your arms.”
I did as instructed, and he waved the wand over my upper body and then along my arms. More people wandered past, most frowning and shooting furtive glances in my direction.
Do they think I’m a terrorist of some sort? “Out of all of these people, why did you select me?” I asked as he moved the wand up and down the outsides of my legs.
“Your behaviour was suspicious.” He passed the wand up and down the insides of my legs.
“Suspicious? How?” Christ! What if I’ve got some substance on my clothes that he thinks is explosive?
“You seemed to be trying to confuse the metal detector.” He removed the wand and checked a dial on its fat end.
“Can I put my hands down now?”
“Of course, sir.” He sounded disappointed.
I placed everything on the floor at my feet, selected my belt and began to thread it through the hooks on the waist of my pants.
“You can’t get dressed here, sir,” said another official who’d suddenly appeared at my side.
“Can I go?” I asked the official with the wand.
“Yes. You’re clear.” He still sounded disappointed.
I grabbed my belongings and retired as far from the electronic gadgetry as I could, fastened my belt, replaced my boots on my feet and returned the other belongings to my pockets. At this point I realised I’d forgotten my carry bag and looked around for it. I soon spotted it at the collection point at the end of the conveyor leading from the scanner, two other officials staring at it as if they suspected it was a bomb.
Hurrying forward, I excused myself, retrieved my bag and took my leave, glad to have successfully negotiated this facet of my journey. As I strode across the vast expanse of the terminal, I checked my watch. 6:35 a.m. Still two hours before my flight was due to leave. I had time to partake of a hearty, healthy breakfast, but after what I’d just endured, decided on a burger and black coffee from Hungry Jack’s, topped off with a couple of Crispy Crème doughnuts.
Hunger pangs subdued and feeling much more human, I headed to the departure lounge, where I could await my flight and catch up on some reading.
Broometime Serenade
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