for some reason ireland was my uk entry point. i mean, i knew i was making a connection in ireland, but i still figured the uk might want to have some say in my coming in, given i'd invested in a visa and what not.
but no. and so my passport has this giant green stamp where i was expecting an insignia laced with crowns and windsor heads.
no worries. i think i'm in love with ireland.
my love of ireland is rooted in the fact that the security check between immigration and flight connections seemed to have been a collaboration between the farrelly brothers and david lynch.
there was one line.
we moved through it like drugged cattle.
no one rushed. no one complained. my consumption of an entire liter of water was leisurely.
a woman dropped a bottle of wine.
it shattered on the floor, spilling merlot that then congealed with the floor dirt and, taking on the consistency of a semi-solid, commenced to ooze across the evidently downward sloping floor. a security person placed a piece of paper beside it with the handwritten note: "mind the spill."
because it looked very like blood, later arrivals were heard to exclaim, "dear me, i hope everyone's alright."
everyone was fine.
everyone was also, apparently, toting metal, as the security alarm dinged with a regularity that would've elicited wrathful shouts of "REMOVE EVERYTHING FROM YOUR POCKETS!!!" from pissed-looking TSA people. the DAA seemed to look upon it as a pleasant change of pace.
to be honest, the DAA seemed to welcome the drama inherent in that ding. what did people have in their pockets? what weaponry was stored in their belts? maeve binchy could write whole books on this.
upon setting off the metal detector, one particular man was asked to remove his belt. when he did, his pants fell down.
i repeat: his pants fell down.
and it wasn't even a big deal.
he didn't protest. he didn't sue.
he just hung out there, all pantsed, like that was a routine element of the security check.
nobody laughed, nobody seemed to notice. i almost didn't even notice except for the fact that my eyes registered the oddity of a man wearing shorts in january and then my brain made the connection that it was, in fact, his underwear.
it was a wonder to behold him standing there, completely nonplussed. how many of us could be so stoic in an airport security line knowing our skivvies were on full display?
i watched in awe as he pulled his pants back up and went on to his connecting flight.