Crazy Uber stories: Late to the gate

As an Uber driver, I pick up many passengers from the airport. Everyone has a horror story about flying. This beauty of a tale comes from Larry, a corporate consultant with millions of miles of air travel under his belt:

Larry Nothinright slammed the car door behind him, rushing headlong through the airport parking lot. Every second ticked away in his mind and he could almost hear the muffled announcement of the final boarding call for his flight. His heart pounded against his chest, each beat propelling him forward on a desperate search for an open parking spot.

“Come on, just one spot,” I muttered, my voice strained with frustration. The tires of my car squealed as I took a sharp turn around another row. “Just one!”

A cacophony of chaos surrounded me, only adding fuel to the fire that was burning inside. A family with screaming children stumbled past, their overloaded luggage cart wobbling precariously. The shrill cries of a toddler pierced the air, adding to the dissonance of honking horns and revving engines.

“Can’t you control your kids?” snapped a man nearby, who was locked in a heated argument with his partner. Their words flew back and forth like knives, but I had no time to pay them any attention. My focus remained solely on finding that elusive parking spot.

“Please,” I whispered to myself, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “Just one damn spot.”

Finally, a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a driver backing out of a space. My heart leaped in my chest, and I quickly maneuvered my car to claim my prize. As I pulled into the spot, barely giving the previous occupant enough room to leave, I felt a fleeting sense of victory wash over me.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, slamming the gear shift into park. I fumbled with my seatbelt, cursing under my breath as the buckle refused to release me from its grasp. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

My heart raced as I stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. I sprinted towards the airport entrance, navigating through the chaos of drivers and passengers like a man possessed.

“Out of my way!” I shouted, dodging a luggage cart and narrowly avoiding a collision with a frantic mother chasing after her toddler. The bitter taste of adrenaline filled my mouth, stinging my tongue as I gulped in air, desperate to make it to the terminal in time.

“Damn it,” I whispered, the weight of my carry-on bag bouncing against my back with every step. This was just the beginning of my journey, but it felt like I had already run a marathon. And yet, there was no time to pause or catch my breath; I had to keep going, to push through the madness and find my way onto that plane before it was too late.

I stumbled into the security checkpoint, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. The line seemed to stretch on for miles, and I could feel the seconds slipping away as the clock ticked closer to departure time.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I watched the people ahead of me fumble with their belongings.

“Next!” barked the security officer, and I practically leaped forward, yanking off my shoes as I approached the conveyor belt. But as I lifted my carry-on onto the belt, the officer frowned and gestured towards my waist.

“Sir, you need to remove your belt and pants.”

“Excuse me?” I stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck.

“New rules, sir. Pants must be removed for inspection.”

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, desperate for any chance to bypass the humiliating ordeal. But the officer’s stern expression left no room for negotiation.

“Sir, please comply or step out of line.”

With a resigned sigh, I unfastened my belt and slid my pants down, avoiding eye contact with the curious stares from those around me. The cold airport floor sent shivers up my bare legs as I stepped through the body scanner, my face burning with shame.

This was a bad day to wear my boxers featuring multi-colored rubber ducks. The security officer took one long look and pointed and laughed. All the other passengers turned to look, a wave of laughter filling the air.

I decided it was too late — I leaned into it. I put my hands over my head and clasped my hands in a champion pose, then slowly turned in a small circle to face the crowd. They loved it.

“Clear,” a senior office finally announced, and I scrambled to put my pants back on, cursing my rotten luck.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, grabbing my carry-on and hurrying away from the checkpoint. My thoughts raced as I scanned the departure board for my gate number. “Gate C12… where is that?”

I sprinted down the concourse, my eyes darting back and forth between the signs overhead and the dwindling time displayed on my watch. As I rounded a corner, I spotted the gate up ahead, and my heart sank at the sight of the gate attendant preparing to close the door.

“Wait!” I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, I’m here! Don’t close it!”

The attendant glanced at me, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Ticket?”

I frantically patted my pockets, panic rising in my chest as I struggled to locate the elusive slip of paper. “It’s… just give me a moment, I know I have it…”

“Sir, if you don’t produce your ticket immediately, I will have to close the gate.”

“Found it!” I exclaimed, triumphantly pulling the crumpled ticket from my back pocket and thrusting it toward her. She snatched it from my hand, her impatience palpable.

“Board quickly, Mr. Nothinright,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass. “You’re lucky we waited this long.”

“Thank you,” I muttered as I bolted down the jet bridge, my heart pounding in my chest. The carry-on bag thudded against my back with each step, urging me to move faster. My lungs burned as I inhaled the stale, recycled air, but I couldn’t afford to slow down.

“Come on, Larry, just a little further!” I encouraged myself, my adrenaline-fueled determination propelling me forward. Every second mattered.

As I reached the door of the airplane, I took one final leap, clearing the threshold just as it started to close. Panting, I allowed myself a momentary sigh of relief before scanning the cabin for my seat.

“24B… 24B…” I whispered, my eyes darting over the rows of passengers who were already settled into their seats, their curious gazes following my frantic search.

“Excuse me,” said a woman in an aisle seat, her voice tinged with irritation as I squeezed past her, jostling her folded newspaper. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, finally locating my seat and collapsing into it, my carry-on landing in the vacant space beside me. For a brief instant, I reveled in the knowledge that I had made it – I was on the plane, and my journey could begin.

But as I glanced at my bag, something felt off. Wasn’t it supposed to be blue? My brow furrowed, and I picked up the suitcase, suddenly aware of the unmistakable shade of pink adorning its exterior.

“No,” I groaned, the full weight of realization crashing down upon me. “I grabbed my wife’s luggage! This isn’t my carry-on!”

“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” said the man sitting across the aisle, chuckling.