Once, I saw a comedian’s show in Columbia, SC. He started off with his recent travels into the local, municipal airport, “What is that, a former Walmart?”
Ahem, he ain’t seen Kodiak’s airport.
I walked into a barrage of people randomly sitting or standing, watching the window, chatting up the “Rent a Wreck” agent (I kid you not, that is the business’s name), and checking in with the gate agent. Due to weather, no more than two planes had left the island in the past four days. Like San Diego, Washington, DC, etc, you have to be a pilot to land in Kodiak. If you miss the runway, you slam into Barometer Mountain, snow capped in all its glory. Our plane had departed Anchorage an hour late. As the agent called us up into the security line-- roughly ten feet from the baggage carousel—we listened to people talk about what their relatives were scoping outside. About ½ the travelers were screened when someone shouted, “they turned off the runway lights!” As if on cue, the agent uses the intercom to announce that our flight was now cancelled; the plane inbound from Anchorage was not able to land and returned home. The line for security simply moved two feet to the right, and we were all being rebooked for the next available flight. It was surreal. I dialed AMEX and had them secure the next morning’s flight as I waited for my turn with the gate agent. As I stayed on the phone with AMEX, I had both the gate agent and AMEX seeking the best route for my flight to San Antonio. Some people behind me quipped, “She’s on corporate travel; let some of us up there. She has someone doing this for her!” Not that I had a Shrek-worthy riot behind me but the murmurings were within earshot. Ahem, they were 3.5 feet away.