Travel Woes - O'Hare Security

Spotting a vegan option on the outside, I scope the security line and see that I have plenty of time. A decent airport meal later I'm ready for flight and head into the security lane, only to reach the front and then turn a corner and be confronted with a massive queue. Joining the end of the line I watch as a man who I saw earlier with a pack of 6 sticks and both a San Jose Sharks and Chicago Hawks hockey bag waltzes past us chumps and then cuts in to use the same boarding pass lady that I'm waiting for! First-class fliers, hmmpf.

Finally passing her I turn another corner and am barked at to get against the wall. The man behind me doesn't take kindly to his line placement either but is forced to literally fall in line. We are barely edging along when I glance at my watch which prompts me to look at my boarding pass. "Should be okay.." I think before reading "Gate closed 20 minutes before flight" "Will not be okay!" 

I count 15 people between me and the full body scan and have 11 minutes before the gate closes. A minute passes and we don't move and then a squadron of three wheelchairs and another four in their entourage wheel right up to the front and start unloading their junk onto my conveyor. DarnDarnDarn! 

Relaying my predicament to the mother and son in front of me they shrug and allow me to jump them but suggest I may want to inform someone else. I agree but the people running security are still far away and don't seem like they are going to give a care. Sweating now with 7 minutes to close I'm imagining the nightmare of missing my flight, spending an extra night in Chicago (it was literally the only Swiss Airline flight on the board) and having to explain why I'm a full day light to my work assignment. With four minutes to go I'm still seventh in line and catch a guard's attention - he listens to my story, looks at the last of the wheelchairs being slowly ushered through and shrugs that there's not much he can do. He does tell me that I might be okay though as Swiss usually does a last call. Sure enough I'm still on the wrong side of the security gate when the lady comes through looking for Swiss passengers. I identify myself and again she looks at my now just a few people from the machine and she just tells me I'd better run to the gate once through.

Everything crawls. The three second body scan seems like three minutes but comes up clear and I'm not flagged for any additional checks, thank the higher powers! Snatching my bags from the conveyor I stuff my feet into shoes and hustle through a terminal I've never been in before, my belt trailing behind me as I can hear my name being "final call" paged over the loudspeaker along with one other straggler. The attendants see me coming and bark out my name as I approach pointing for me to continue hustling directly to the gate. Relief floods as she scans my ticket and waves me down the gangway.

Get Outta Amsterdam

Blinking red light. Swipe again. Red. Exasperated sigh and down I went to the lobby. At 10am. On a Sunday. Naturally to huff and puff for fifteen minutes behind all the useless tourists checking out. All of this just to get a key card that worked so I figured while I was at the desk I would book my airport shuttle too. Unfortunately the 6:40pm was already full so I was stuck on the 6pm - precious time in Amsterdam wasted at the airport.

Finally back into my room I packed and went out for the day - the markets, the canals, failed attempt at Anne Frank's house (massive lineup), FOAM photography, bike vs Benz, pancakes. Hurrying back to the hotel I had a short time to kill before the 6pm shuttle but nothing worthwhile to do. Boarding the shuttle it turned out they'd overbooked anyhow but I had my seat. By the time they sorted that out we got away a little late and were two blocks off when I started organising for security - firstly putting my passport in my pocket. My passport. Not in this backpack? Wait, not in this one either? I rushed to the front of the van and calmly but seriously informed the driver that my passport was still in the hotel room. He tried to figure out how to handle this and I told him I could just walk back so he circled one block back and let me out. None of the other passengers, now further delayed, said anything. From the sidewalk I took stock of the situation and then broke into a tear down the street just catching the van at the corner and banging on the back door. My heart sank as the driver pulled around the corner but then he pulled over and allowed me to retrieve my luggage. Hurrying as best as I could with this wobbly, two-wheeled duffle-style suitcase I rumbled over the bricked sidewalk back to the hotel. Fortunately there was no line at this hour and the manager accompanied me to my former room (still unoccupied) where the safe was still locked and my passport inside.

Back downstairs he stuttered through a few different routes to the airport - the next shuttle was still sold out and a taxi was going to be very expensive, plus I had the time. Or so I thought.

With his instructions in my head I hustled out of the front door and promptly decided to take a different route recommended by Google that involved a lot of walking but would be faster since I'm a fast walker. Partway into that I was worried that the dragging of my bag was slowing me down too much and Google suggested another route that took a tram to the main train I need to catch. Ok, fine so I moved off in that direction. But the path didn't seem right, so I went past the suggested GPS turn and carried on, only to rethink that and go back and through the parking lot as the GPS suggested. Two minutes down this the path on the map essentially said "climb this steep, bushy hill to a fenced-in train station." Bordered in by a lovely canal I had to double back through the parking lot and decided "forget it - back to the long walk but direct route" option. Now having lost the six ill-spent minutes I was in serious danger of missing the train I needed to catch to make my flight. This meant attempted sprinting (with a huge suitcase) for nearly a kilometre to arrive at the station a disgusting sweaty mess. Fumbling with the ticket machine I bumped my bag up the stairs with about sixty seconds to spare in order to stuff myself into the door of the already overflowing train. It was a good thing as once I got through security it was an 18 minute Stefan-speed walk to my gate INSIDE the airport. Is that not ridiculous? Time only to slam a crappy Heineken (literally the only option) and snack before last call for boarding. In the end I suppose it was fortuitous that the desired shuttle was sold out (granted, a very stupid thing that I forgot my passport in the room safe to begin with.)