Chomp!

By Ron Aiken
April 4, 2014

Airport Starbucks! Invasive TSA Screens! Mid-air Bathroom Fights! Sbarro?

Chomp! is a traveler, a trotter of the globe, a person of importance needed from time to time in the towns unfortunate enough to exist beyond our fair state’s borders.

Which means eating at airports. Or not eating at airports, more specifically.

Unlike his fiancee, who comes prepared with snacks from every food group for every outing lasting longer than five minutes – two teenage sons and an 8-year-old condition one for that – Chomp!’s thinking goes something like, “Is there a Starbucks? I’m good then.”

And good he was Wednesday morning at the Charlotte airport, even though the line for the Starbucks by gate E26 was absurdly long. Chomp! did not see this as a deterrent, however, but as an opportunity to engage others. He struck up a conversation with a young mother named Brandi and her baby – the baby did not talk much – that was so pleasant others in line joined in. It happens to Chomp! a lot; happened in the TSA screening line just a few minutes before, in fact, when Chomp! was singled out for special attention in the security room.

Having forgotten to take his wallet out of his britches or some other equally poor reason Chomp! Was asked to stand aside as other passengers-to-be made the shameful, eyes-downward, shoe-less and belt-less walk to collect their belongings from the plastic tubs at the end of the conveyor.

Turning so all could hear after exiting the scanner where you have to stand like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, I told the early morning throng that my booty was just too juicy for the machine to handle. Huge laughs.

The laughs weren’t as huge in the security room, but we conducted our affairs, I was grazed inappropriately and allowed to re-enter society with a stern warning about not carrying regular-sized toothpaste tubes. I was fortunate, I was told, that I could keep mine because it was halfway empty. Fortune indeed had smiled on me, after all.

I’ll say two other things about the Starbucks stand by gate E26 at Charlotte Douglas Airport. One, I have an affinity for that location because on a trip last fall, it may even also have been to Arkansas as Wednesday’s was, the two-man staff decided I didn’t need to pay for my Americano. I asked if this generosity extended to the baked goods and chocolates on offer. It did. I rewarded the staff with a $20 tip.

Secondly, I had a teaching moment after I’d gotten my coffee. An older African-American man was creating a backlog at the small counter where one puts the sugar in the coffee. He was putting the white sugar packets in, about 20 of them, one by agonizing one. As someone in the 12-15 packet range myself, I took the opportunity to show him my time-tested technique of grabbing six at a time – I know what you’re saying, “Six! Wow! Can you do seven? Eight?” To which I say “Of course, but that’s not the point right now and stop interrupting!”

Six was a number I could teach him with – can’t go right out of the gate giving someone something impossible to do and expect them ever to try and repeat it. So I showed him how I grab them up, stack them neatly like playing cards I’m about to shuffle, grab them by the tippy-tops and give the stack three or four good shakes. One quick rip across the top opens them all, and in goes the love. In the time it takes to put in two single sugars, you’ve got your jam, all are impressed and I can report to you that you feel pret-ty good about yourself.

I’m sure the impatient people in the line behind us appreciated my impromptu demonstration, as I got a couple of silent “thank yous.” At least I thought I did. I have no way to prove that, you have no way to disprove it and so we’re sticking with that, OK? OK.

And really, other than chocolate and coffee, which I am quite happy to overpay for anywhere at any time, why would anyone eat anything at an airport with that 300 percent markup? I understand why people like Cinnabon, but is it a good idea, when you step back and analyze the matter, to eat a honeybun the size of a football under any circumstances, much less 35,000 feet? I think we can all agree it is not.

This is a ham and cheese sandwich, no condiments, for $4.75. $4.75!!! I could get TWO Cafe Americano’s for that at Starbucks! TWO!

And the less said about Sbarro, the better. I believe “Sbarro” is Italian for “dumpster,” but I haven’t checked that. In fact, I’m not 100-percent sure Sbarro’s business model isn’t re-selling what they steal out of Fazoli’s garbage. Or maybe it’s the other way around. How can one tell with those nutty Italians and their kooky ways?

On this note, dear reader, I must bid you adieu for this week. It’s been a long day of travel and the coffee has taken a toll on Chomp!’s weary bladder. So much so that on the flight itself Chomp! got into a pushing war with a passenger in the lavatory. No know that Chomp! is a considerate passenger, so when he saw a person get up, go to the back of the plane then return, passing him by on the way back his seat with a smile on his face, Chomp! got up and proceeded to the rear himself.

Seeing the green indicator on the door, he pushed. The folding door went in about halfway, then popped back out. What was this?? Chomp! was confused and stood in the aisle a few seconds thinking about it.  Re-confirming the fact that the sign was green, meaning unoccupied, he leaned in again, thinking he just hadn’t pushed hard enough. The small jet he was on wasn’t exactly brand-new, after all; I’m willing to bet Michael Jackson was still moonwalking when this puppy rolled off the assembly line, if you know what I mean.

So, I set to my chore and shoved. Hard. It shoved back. Hard. Some muffled words were said, and an embarrassed Chomp! sat in the open steward/stewardess chair to await the coming confrontation. Fortunately, the kerfuffle was quickly diffused with a stream of apologies from Chomp!, and the man in his 60s who clearly had been sitting in the dark while trying to pass his Cinnabon went back to his seat and I to my yellow business. I know that he was in the dark because when you slide the handle to the right, as indicated in bright red letters, the door locks and the light comes on.

But the less said about that episode the better, for the dignity of all parties concerned. Til next week!