Airport Horror Show

Sara Rimensnyder | September 5, 2002

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Shockingly, people obeyed. They straggled forward, pushing their way through the blob, their faces bright from the oxygen rush as they moved into fresh air. When nobody else approached, he moved on to the next 5-minute interval.

Meanwhile, I wanted to get a closer look at this Southwest drill sergeant. I sidled up next to him, and looked down for his nameplate. He wasn't wearing one—in fact, he wasn't even wearing a uniform.

"I don't work here," he told me. "I'm a marketing exec from Austin."

He then moved on to the 11:55ers.

"Someone needed to take charge," offered his female companion, "so he did."

At precisely 12:03, he called my group—which turned out to be his as well. We all raced for the X-ray machines and metal detectors. Inevitably, there was another line, but this one was quick. Naturally, I was flagged for a wand-job and a grope. My gate was at the very end of the terminal.

I arrived wheezing, and the employee there became the first person of the day to check my ID. I boarded a one-third-empty jet: Everyone else was still in security. As I fell into my seat, shaking with adrenaline, a flight attendant announced that we'd be waiting for other passengers to arrive from security for just a few minutes.

Forty-five minutes later, we took off.