London Heathrow… the biggest mess since aiports exist. It is horrible! There is not even one second a tiny bit of piece and silence, not even in the restrooms, since whenever and wherever I use them, you can be sure, exactly there and then the cleaning staff is going to show up. There is a lounge you can pay to use… of course everyone who can afford to fly can afford that particular lounge which means, it’s as loud and messy as it is outside.
Using London Heathrow as a transit airport, I had to undergo another round of security. Generally I don’t have problems with that since they’re also trying to make sure I am going to be safe. I appreciate that, unless of course, I clearly realize and understand they have not the slightest clue what exactly they’re doing.
The front lady says: Only laptop need to be removed, Kindle reader, cell phones, tablets can stay in the bags. The back lady says: “Who told you that? Of course you have to remove everything! That can’t be true! – Christina – Christiiiiiinnnaaaa!” – and takes off leaving me there with a dumbstruck look on my face. (Not that I don’t always look like that, but that story is for another blog post.)
After this pretty demoralizing demonstration of London Heathrow safety, you try to find the tiniest spot for you to relax, but there is none. London Heathrow is literally as busy as an anthill. It’s frustrating… you’re actually trying to get somewhere, but there’s no chance. So you’re just flowing with the stream and hope it’s getting you somewhere. And it does. You’re ending up in front of that black-orange board where they display when exactly they’ll inform the passengers about their next flight gate. Of course they’re waiting with that until the last few seconds before boarding, and then you have to run.
While waiting for the gate announcement you end up at Starbucks, waiting area, Terminal 5. There I found out something very interesting: I think someone screwed me over. I’m not in London Heathrow… I’m outer Galaxy somewhere. Because all over the world, I mean, whenever and wherever I checked they serve Mocha Frappuccino. But not at that particular place I’m currently waiting for my flight. Here they serve “Café”-Frappuccino.
When you order a Venti Café Frappuccino you get a staff member in a really bad mood – ordering for you the smallest possible cup – and, GOD BEWARE don’t even THINK to tell them your name is AJ. Because if you do, you’ll get that:
At least I got on the plane. The flight was okay, the food was acceptable, the movies quite good, the flight attendants a little arrogant… but it took me where I needed to go. Mission accomplished.