All that security and still assaulted at airport

Before I post about our vacation to Mexico, let me share with you a little bit about Michelle. I am a people watcher. As a child my dad used to take me and my siblings to the local airport to watch the planes or sometimes we went for rides back on forth on the ferry near our house. It was here that I learned that people in real life are just as fun as those on TV.

With that said, Let me tell a few funny stories from the airport. During our wait George left to go the the bathroom and I turn so that I can see the people walking by. I perk up when I see a “blue coat” (ticket agent) call out to a white shirt (in this case driver of the “lazy” cart that drives people to their gates.)

“Where are you going?” he (ticket agent) called out.

“Why do you want to know?” she (driver) snapped back.

“Why do you have to be so rude? Where are you going?” he continues walking up to her stopped cart.

“Why do you want to know?” she said making her three passenger visibly uncomfortable.

“I just want to know where you are going so this couple can get a ride,” he said, raising his voice as the elderly couple next to him shrinks back.

“Well why don’t you just tell me where to take them,” she threw back at him.

“They need to go to gate 14A,” he said, as the couple timidly climbs on to the cart.

“Why didn't you just say that,” she spat back as she began to drive off.

“I don’t know why you have the be so ghetto,” he called after her.

Now I am sure this is only my imagination but I swear the cart squealed to a halt as she snapped her head around and jumped out of the cart.

“What did you say,” she asked.

“Why do you have to be so ghetto,” he responded ensuring in my mind he was single because no married man would have actually repeated what he said.

“Oh, I’m ghetto,” she said, walking towards him. “I’m being ghetto.” (At this point I wished for popcorn because it was getting good.)

“Why don’t you just do your job,” he said backing up a little.

“I’ll show you ghetto if i have to see you again,” she said now aware that people had walked closer to see what was going on. (I was already in the front row for this prize winning drama.)

“They are going to miss their flight,” he said reminding her that there were people still in her cart.

“I’ll find you later,” she vowed as she got back into her cart.

With a few more mutter comments they both went back to their work and I felt a little bit happier that my boredom was alleviated.

Houston Intercontinental Airport is such a lively place. Later when it was my turn to go the the bathroom, I had my own run in.

I exited the bathroom and stood in the center of the empty corridor looking at monitors when I felt a tug on my sleeve and a slew of Spanish.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said, turing in hopes of their changing to English (America’s language!)

“Spanish, Spanish, Spanish ...” repeated this grandmotherly looking lady holding a garbage bag filled with wrapped presents. Thinking of my own dear grandmother I smiled at her (my entire family speaks Spanish fluently, yet I was sent to a private school with no foreign language classes and never learned.)

“No hablo espanol,” I said. (Translation- "I don't speak Spanish")

“Que?” she asked. (“What” for those who don’t know.)

“No hablo espanol,” I repeated.

Suddenly I was assaulted with a barge of Spanish.

“I’m sorry,” I said using the apologetic face that got me out of trouble as a kid.

Then unexpectedly, the hand gesture. That’s right ... the middle finger. Then she turned and stomped off.

After a moment of shock, I thought of only one thing. Of all effort you spent getting yourself and presumably family to America you didn’t take the time to learn the language, only one simple hand gesture. Kudos to you, grandma. I hope you don’t hand out presents with that hand.

I thought America was where you go to better yourself. I guess not everyone got the memo.