Oh, and SEATAC blows
It's not a travel trip without a comment on the airport. So here goes: my god, what a sad, sad little airport Seattle has. You know, I kind of expected New Orleans (which I flew through over xmas) to be a bit dumpy and greasy, and it was. But Seattle? You've got Microsoft and at one point had all that internet money! You have no excuse! I spent five hours toodling around the airport yesterday and feel I have sufficient background to comment on it.
To begin: There are terminals A, B, C, D, N, and S. Each one radiates out from an overall form that is not unlike the figure eight. So what I'm saying is, this airport covers a *huge* amount of turf. Guess how many places you can have a burger AND a beer at the same time? One. Solamente uno. Since I had that five-hour layover, I was prepared to sniff it out. And it took me the better part of an hour of traipsing around, following false leads. You know you're bad off when you're bargaining with fate, saying, "All I need is one TGI Friday's. Just one!" Because if you have to kill that amount of time in an airport, you're going to do it accompanied with calories, cholesterol, and plenty of hops.
After sloooooowly eating my dinner, I tracked down the ONE PLACE that they sell stamps. Seriously? Seattle? People in airports tend to be traveling, and travelers often - not always, not every time, but often - have postcards. Until USPS gives up the pretense of making a profit and starts sending our mail for free, postcards will require stamps. You, SEATAC, can provide a much-needed service and sell the goddamn stamps in more than one location. [Although I'm running a social experiment: six of you will be getting a postcard, theoretically. I stamped my postcards and gave them to an employee of the ONE STAMP STORE to post. Let's see if she stuffed them down the nearest garbage can as soon as my back was turned or actually mailed them.]
By that point, I still had three hours to kill. So I got to know the airport's monorail. It's quite speedy - I'm thinking that DC's metro could learn from it. I zipped all over the airport in it, until I finally gave in to the ennui and found an outlet to recharge my iPod.
So 4.5 hours have gone by during my layover. Half an hour before my flight, SEATAC gets one last shot in and changes my departure gate to one that's a terminal away. Well-done, SEATAC. But this is not over yet. I'm petty and I have a long memory. I will enact revenge. See if I schedule a trip through you ever again!
Oh, and one more airport comment and I'll shut the hell up: Nervous fliers, take a ferry into Juneau. Juneau is nestled in a mountainous valley and the way you land at the airport goes as follows. Descent. Descent. Descent. (for ten minutes). Landing gear comes out. HOLY SHIT THAT'S A MOUNTAIN! SAVE ME JEBUS! Touch down. Heartbeat goes back to normal.
To begin: There are terminals A, B, C, D, N, and S. Each one radiates out from an overall form that is not unlike the figure eight. So what I'm saying is, this airport covers a *huge* amount of turf. Guess how many places you can have a burger AND a beer at the same time? One. Solamente uno. Since I had that five-hour layover, I was prepared to sniff it out. And it took me the better part of an hour of traipsing around, following false leads. You know you're bad off when you're bargaining with fate, saying, "All I need is one TGI Friday's. Just one!" Because if you have to kill that amount of time in an airport, you're going to do it accompanied with calories, cholesterol, and plenty of hops.
After sloooooowly eating my dinner, I tracked down the ONE PLACE that they sell stamps. Seriously? Seattle? People in airports tend to be traveling, and travelers often - not always, not every time, but often - have postcards. Until USPS gives up the pretense of making a profit and starts sending our mail for free, postcards will require stamps. You, SEATAC, can provide a much-needed service and sell the goddamn stamps in more than one location. [Although I'm running a social experiment: six of you will be getting a postcard, theoretically. I stamped my postcards and gave them to an employee of the ONE STAMP STORE to post. Let's see if she stuffed them down the nearest garbage can as soon as my back was turned or actually mailed them.]
By that point, I still had three hours to kill. So I got to know the airport's monorail. It's quite speedy - I'm thinking that DC's metro could learn from it. I zipped all over the airport in it, until I finally gave in to the ennui and found an outlet to recharge my iPod.
So 4.5 hours have gone by during my layover. Half an hour before my flight, SEATAC gets one last shot in and changes my departure gate to one that's a terminal away. Well-done, SEATAC. But this is not over yet. I'm petty and I have a long memory. I will enact revenge. See if I schedule a trip through you ever again!
Oh, and one more airport comment and I'll shut the hell up: Nervous fliers, take a ferry into Juneau. Juneau is nestled in a mountainous valley and the way you land at the airport goes as follows. Descent. Descent. Descent. (for ten minutes). Landing gear comes out. HOLY SHIT THAT'S A MOUNTAIN! SAVE ME JEBUS! Touch down. Heartbeat goes back to normal.
posted by Her Ladyship @ 5:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home