A real reality show
On my last trip to Auckland International Airport I observed a range of sights:
The Asian couple trying to check in a house lot Why do people want to travel with so much luggage? I usually conclude that they must be exporting infant formula. Then I idly start wondering how many infants they could fit into one of their oversized bags - and then look for the absence of air holes to dismiss my theory.
An old guy playing solitaire on his phone. I always like to see the older generation embracing new technology. But to play solitaire?? Each to their own, but with so much going on around you, why would you?
A young girl using the front camera on her phone to check out how she is looking. It is a nice little reminder that having a few miles under the belt is a good thing, as the importance of what you look like vs what you do, has flipped completely. But given I allowed my mother to cut my hair into my twenties (her hair-dressing prowess was about on par with my needlepoint skills) meant I either didn’t care about my appearance or my taste was seriously questionable. Probably both.
The fat guys in the business/first-class queue. Next time try spotting a skinny guy in this queue. They are about as common as a vegan in a maimai. But that’s not always the case with the women though. There are usually a fair few that could do with a good drench and their only plumpness has been injected - I imagine without botox they would more closely resemble their Pekingese.
The guy who gets all the way to customs without filling in his incoming passenger card. How do they manage that? They got their first chance when they were handed them on the plane. About six hours ago. There are about a hundred signs along the way indicating that this is a requirement. Plus the route is littered with people filling these cards out. To miss all that, I can only conclude they are either illiterate or have something else on their mind – like “I hope that condom does not bust”.
Me who gets told off in the customs queue for using my phone to take notes of my observations. I discover my phone could be a bomb trigger. “Hi bomb, Andrew here. Andrew Fraser, you know, the guy who made you. Anyway, I want you to blow up now.”
So next time you are at an airport and starting to get a little bored, rather than revert to scrolling through forgetful dross on your phone, look around. Observe. Try and figure out what they do, where they are going, and where they came from. People are endlessly fascinating. After your first few episodes, you might find this reality show becomes quite compulsive viewing.
