Virulens Heathrowitis - from the Irish Independent today
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Virulens Heathrowitis - from the Irish Independent today
Virulens Heathrowitis sufferers are morosely unhelpful -- please bring back the cattle boat
By Kevin Myers
Wednesday June 10 2009
IT was in Heathrow Airport that I first noticed the disease, early one Sunday morning 20 years ago. I had just arrived from Central America flying British Airways galley-class, in which you travel Joan Collins-style with your heels behind your ears.
The journey lasted about three weeks, or felt like it anyway. I now had to travel to the centre of London, but had no money. So I went to a NatWest airport bank and cashed a cheque for IR£40. The sullen clerk sullenly gave me £40 sullen sterling. I told her she was giving me too much -- the exchange rate merited £35.
Being English, she clearly didn't know the two pounds had different rates. She went away and then came back. Sorry, she said, sullenly, we don't cash Irish cheques. Ah, I replied, but you just have.
And the only reason I'm not walking away from you with your forty quid is because I'm an honest man. Now please cash my cheque.
A look of sickly triumph appeared on her face. No, she said.
Get me the manager, please, I whispered.
The manager appeared, as morose as a vegan in a Halal abattoir. I told her the brief history of my time at her bank, that I had to get into London and that I had no money to buy a railway ticket. It was 6am, and by now I felt as if I had just come from New Zealand curled up in a tea chest on a galleon sailing sideways.
Her sullenness was instantly abolished, and she yodelled with pleasure. She could not help me! No way! Absolutely not!
And with that she did several joyous handstands back into her office, while her staff erupted in cheers.
That was it: Virulens Heathrowitis, the sado-sullen airport disease: a general demeanour of morose unhelpfulness, punctuated by occasional spasms of ecstatic hostility.
In those days VH existed only in that sordid and eponymous slum west of London, but it is now found wherever aircraft rubber stains concrete.
This is a litigious world, and the airport in the following tale is small. Other than turning a routine flight into the Little Big Horn, airport workers love nothing more than to sue humble columnists for libel. So let us call the place in question Scuntwick, where we had placed our toiletries in those small transparent plastic bags which we happen to have used many times before.
The female security guard examined them as if they were scabs peeled from the private parts of a scrofulous camel. Wrong size, she declared. "The bags should be 13 centimetres by 10. These are 14 by 9. We can't let you on the plane with those."
Look, I know arguing with anyone afflicted by Virulens Heathrowitis is a waste of time. But I nonetheless tried. And, of course, she now took pleasure from being an obstacle. Why, I think she even had an orgasm, or possibly two, as she found fifteen different ways to say no. Finally, she wheezed, (and slapping her thigh), I would have to go out onto the main concourse, and buy a plastic bag from a 50p slot-machine.
Of course, I didn't have 50p. So I went to the bank nearby, clearly a cousin of the one at Heathrow, and offered the clerk €5 for a 50p coin. He couldn't help me, he guffawed, and choking with laughter he pointed me to a hole-in-the-wall. My AIB card told me I had no money -- an utter lie for which I am now severing a lifelong relationship. My Visa card was charging me a fee, so to make this transaction worthwhile, I took out £100. I then bought a newspaper and, with my 50p coin in change, got a plastic bag from the vending machine.
Back into airport security, I placed my toiletries in a suitcase which I have taken aboard a hundred flights. But this time, a sullen official in security didn't like its shape.
It was then put into a bag-measuring frame, and though it fitted, it was ruled to have done so too tightly. Bliss was suddenly universal.
THE bag could not go on the plane with me, chortled a security man. Behind him, his colleagues were performing a Morris dance of joy. The security-woman was on her back and groaning.
Outside, the bank clerk was doing his Gene Kelly, 'Singin' in the Rain', impersonation. Happiness, of the toxic Heathrowitis Virulens variety, was now abundant across Scuntwick.
So I then had to put my suitcase (containing the utterly redundant £100 plastic bag) into the hold, costing me another £20.
Seeing the look of inconsolable grief on my face, the check-in girl nearly choked with joy. She retired behind a screen to finish her ecstasy in private.
And so to Dublin Airport, where there were just three sullen officials in passport control, with the same slab-like faces of Scuntwick, to cope with the hundreds of travellers. Our bus driver, who then took us on a day trip around the long-term car park, was similarly facially blessed.
Nearly two hours after arriving at Dublin Airport we were finally able to escape the Irish bastion of Heathrowitis Virulens.
Please, someone -- bring back the Liverpool cattle boat. OH PULLEASE.
- Kevin Myers
By Kevin Myers
Wednesday June 10 2009
IT was in Heathrow Airport that I first noticed the disease, early one Sunday morning 20 years ago. I had just arrived from Central America flying British Airways galley-class, in which you travel Joan Collins-style with your heels behind your ears.
The journey lasted about three weeks, or felt like it anyway. I now had to travel to the centre of London, but had no money. So I went to a NatWest airport bank and cashed a cheque for IR£40. The sullen clerk sullenly gave me £40 sullen sterling. I told her she was giving me too much -- the exchange rate merited £35.
Being English, she clearly didn't know the two pounds had different rates. She went away and then came back. Sorry, she said, sullenly, we don't cash Irish cheques. Ah, I replied, but you just have.
And the only reason I'm not walking away from you with your forty quid is because I'm an honest man. Now please cash my cheque.
A look of sickly triumph appeared on her face. No, she said.
Get me the manager, please, I whispered.
The manager appeared, as morose as a vegan in a Halal abattoir. I told her the brief history of my time at her bank, that I had to get into London and that I had no money to buy a railway ticket. It was 6am, and by now I felt as if I had just come from New Zealand curled up in a tea chest on a galleon sailing sideways.
Her sullenness was instantly abolished, and she yodelled with pleasure. She could not help me! No way! Absolutely not!
And with that she did several joyous handstands back into her office, while her staff erupted in cheers.
That was it: Virulens Heathrowitis, the sado-sullen airport disease: a general demeanour of morose unhelpfulness, punctuated by occasional spasms of ecstatic hostility.
In those days VH existed only in that sordid and eponymous slum west of London, but it is now found wherever aircraft rubber stains concrete.
This is a litigious world, and the airport in the following tale is small. Other than turning a routine flight into the Little Big Horn, airport workers love nothing more than to sue humble columnists for libel. So let us call the place in question Scuntwick, where we had placed our toiletries in those small transparent plastic bags which we happen to have used many times before.
The female security guard examined them as if they were scabs peeled from the private parts of a scrofulous camel. Wrong size, she declared. "The bags should be 13 centimetres by 10. These are 14 by 9. We can't let you on the plane with those."
Look, I know arguing with anyone afflicted by Virulens Heathrowitis is a waste of time. But I nonetheless tried. And, of course, she now took pleasure from being an obstacle. Why, I think she even had an orgasm, or possibly two, as she found fifteen different ways to say no. Finally, she wheezed, (and slapping her thigh), I would have to go out onto the main concourse, and buy a plastic bag from a 50p slot-machine.
Of course, I didn't have 50p. So I went to the bank nearby, clearly a cousin of the one at Heathrow, and offered the clerk €5 for a 50p coin. He couldn't help me, he guffawed, and choking with laughter he pointed me to a hole-in-the-wall. My AIB card told me I had no money -- an utter lie for which I am now severing a lifelong relationship. My Visa card was charging me a fee, so to make this transaction worthwhile, I took out £100. I then bought a newspaper and, with my 50p coin in change, got a plastic bag from the vending machine.
Back into airport security, I placed my toiletries in a suitcase which I have taken aboard a hundred flights. But this time, a sullen official in security didn't like its shape.
It was then put into a bag-measuring frame, and though it fitted, it was ruled to have done so too tightly. Bliss was suddenly universal.
THE bag could not go on the plane with me, chortled a security man. Behind him, his colleagues were performing a Morris dance of joy. The security-woman was on her back and groaning.
Outside, the bank clerk was doing his Gene Kelly, 'Singin' in the Rain', impersonation. Happiness, of the toxic Heathrowitis Virulens variety, was now abundant across Scuntwick.
So I then had to put my suitcase (containing the utterly redundant £100 plastic bag) into the hold, costing me another £20.
Seeing the look of inconsolable grief on my face, the check-in girl nearly choked with joy. She retired behind a screen to finish her ecstasy in private.
And so to Dublin Airport, where there were just three sullen officials in passport control, with the same slab-like faces of Scuntwick, to cope with the hundreds of travellers. Our bus driver, who then took us on a day trip around the long-term car park, was similarly facially blessed.
Nearly two hours after arriving at Dublin Airport we were finally able to escape the Irish bastion of Heathrowitis Virulens.
Please, someone -- bring back the Liverpool cattle boat. OH PULLEASE.
- Kevin Myers
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Wrong size, she declared. "The bags should be 13 centimetres by 10. These are 14 by 9. We can't let you on the plane with those."
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No, the above all sounds true. I was recently stopped at Heathrow for having the wrong size of plastic bag. It wasn't massive, maybe just a cm out at a guess, but otherwise it was fine - and I have used the same type of poly bags all over the world including LHR. Everyone around me just looked on incredulously.
This highlights the nonsense the author above writes so eloquently about. The plastic bag is there to limit the amount of liquid goods, and enable the security screeners to see clearly into it. If a bag is one cm or so longer on one side or another, it does not affect the role of said bag. But as the author so correctly highlights, this is all about security personnel having a spot of 'power mast*rbation'.
As I am a very frequent flyer, I've put some of my shaving cream into a helpful little bottle which you can buy in boots the chemists. It is plain, but has a label stating its volume - but it is very obviously small. The reason I do this, is that for some bizarre reason, almost all shaving cream comes in bottles or tubes of 125ml (just over the limit). Anyway, on a recent trip, the security staff pulled out the plain bottle with shave cream, and told me there was a problem. Was it the size, did he not believe the volume label??? No. The problem was, the shaving cream was in a plain bottle, with no manufacturers name on it.
So there we have it. I moved the cream to a smaller bottle to comply with the 'stupid beyond belief' security rules, but then I was told this was the wrong thing to do. You could not make it up.
Several years ago, it was the case in the USA that laptops needed to be kept INSIDE your bag for screening, the opposite of the UK at the time. I can distinctly recall passing through security at Seattle, after having taken my laptop out (I thought I was doing the right thing). Suddenly one of the female security goons started yelling really, really loud and very angrily 'whose is this laptop - who took it out' when I admitted it was mine, she ranted at full pelt about how I should know better, and I must NEVER take my laptop out. But of course, as the paying passenger, I would have been arrested had I dared to raise my voice at her like she was doing to me.
From that point onwards, I ignore any member of airport staff if they raise their voice, regardless of the circumstances. The louder they shout - the less I hear.
Of course now the reverse is true in the USA. Laptops out.
I can still remember many, many years ago travelling through airports was semi- pleasurable. It is now just a living hell.
The security rules make NO sense. The staff are pig ignorant - with few exceptions. 'security' is used as an excuse to treat pax like sh*t, and those who grumble are offloaded promptly. All free space has been filled with 'retail opportunities', leaving departure terminals overcrowded, with inadequate ventilation and cramped seating areas.
I have seen and experienced so much utter bullsh*t from airline and airport security staff over the last few years, I have to completely and fully agree with the article - my only complaint being it does not go far enough.
Oh, yes, virulens Heathrowitis is a truly global pandemic.
This highlights the nonsense the author above writes so eloquently about. The plastic bag is there to limit the amount of liquid goods, and enable the security screeners to see clearly into it. If a bag is one cm or so longer on one side or another, it does not affect the role of said bag. But as the author so correctly highlights, this is all about security personnel having a spot of 'power mast*rbation'.
As I am a very frequent flyer, I've put some of my shaving cream into a helpful little bottle which you can buy in boots the chemists. It is plain, but has a label stating its volume - but it is very obviously small. The reason I do this, is that for some bizarre reason, almost all shaving cream comes in bottles or tubes of 125ml (just over the limit). Anyway, on a recent trip, the security staff pulled out the plain bottle with shave cream, and told me there was a problem. Was it the size, did he not believe the volume label??? No. The problem was, the shaving cream was in a plain bottle, with no manufacturers name on it.
So there we have it. I moved the cream to a smaller bottle to comply with the 'stupid beyond belief' security rules, but then I was told this was the wrong thing to do. You could not make it up.
Several years ago, it was the case in the USA that laptops needed to be kept INSIDE your bag for screening, the opposite of the UK at the time. I can distinctly recall passing through security at Seattle, after having taken my laptop out (I thought I was doing the right thing). Suddenly one of the female security goons started yelling really, really loud and very angrily 'whose is this laptop - who took it out' when I admitted it was mine, she ranted at full pelt about how I should know better, and I must NEVER take my laptop out. But of course, as the paying passenger, I would have been arrested had I dared to raise my voice at her like she was doing to me.
From that point onwards, I ignore any member of airport staff if they raise their voice, regardless of the circumstances. The louder they shout - the less I hear.
Of course now the reverse is true in the USA. Laptops out.
I can still remember many, many years ago travelling through airports was semi- pleasurable. It is now just a living hell.
The security rules make NO sense. The staff are pig ignorant - with few exceptions. 'security' is used as an excuse to treat pax like sh*t, and those who grumble are offloaded promptly. All free space has been filled with 'retail opportunities', leaving departure terminals overcrowded, with inadequate ventilation and cramped seating areas.
I have seen and experienced so much utter bullsh*t from airline and airport security staff over the last few years, I have to completely and fully agree with the article - my only complaint being it does not go far enough.
Oh, yes, virulens Heathrowitis is a truly global pandemic.
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Lap Tops
At Grumpy hole No 5 (T5) LHR, beware of the plastic rollers at the security gate.When you place your expensive laptop on them - They collect static - Same applies for SFO - it could result in the afformentioned kit becomming about as much use as a scabby camel or an Insurance claim.
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Virulens Heathrowitis,
I'm glad at least I know now what thi sdreadful afflication is called.
Only last Monday, I too suffered from an extreme bout...coming from Canada, and using the airside transfer between T3 and T1, my icewine, puchased in Vancouver's duty free, was deemed a security risk too great to carry onboard my final leg to Belfast.
Now I mistakenly believed that staying airside would allow me to retain my legally purchased booze. How naive and stupid was I! So I was instructed (by no less than three sullen faces, each speaking in a monotone over one another) to go landside and check in my booze. That was easier said than done.
The maze of immigration desks, lifts (that didn't work quite right), and staircases that lead right back to where you started only increased the severity of my bout of VH. And then, when offered assistance by a member of airport staff, my wife made the mistake of showing her frustration. Not in an aggressive way, not in an argumentative way, but simply by the totally unreasonable act of explaining herself. Said staff member then suggested that if she wanted help, she better calm down, or he wouldn't be helping anyone! Utter cheek and condescension
But the most amazing bout of VH afflicted another poor traveller. Wheeling his luggage cart through the Nothing to Declare channel, with two suitcases and a three year old son sitting on top, enjoying the ride...one of these gormless, jumped up security staff ordered the man to remove his child from atop the baggage. Now, I can't for the life of me see how a small child, catching a free ride on a luggage trolley, and heading for the door, could pose a security risk. And what if the father said no? What punishment could the sullen one dish out? Send him back inside?
These people are sad, joyless, anally retentives. I've travelled through Vancouver, Calgary, Orlando, Newark and Amsterdam in the past year. All of them a pleasure...but step back into the UK...
I'm glad at least I know now what thi sdreadful afflication is called.
Only last Monday, I too suffered from an extreme bout...coming from Canada, and using the airside transfer between T3 and T1, my icewine, puchased in Vancouver's duty free, was deemed a security risk too great to carry onboard my final leg to Belfast.
Now I mistakenly believed that staying airside would allow me to retain my legally purchased booze. How naive and stupid was I! So I was instructed (by no less than three sullen faces, each speaking in a monotone over one another) to go landside and check in my booze. That was easier said than done.
The maze of immigration desks, lifts (that didn't work quite right), and staircases that lead right back to where you started only increased the severity of my bout of VH. And then, when offered assistance by a member of airport staff, my wife made the mistake of showing her frustration. Not in an aggressive way, not in an argumentative way, but simply by the totally unreasonable act of explaining herself. Said staff member then suggested that if she wanted help, she better calm down, or he wouldn't be helping anyone! Utter cheek and condescension
But the most amazing bout of VH afflicted another poor traveller. Wheeling his luggage cart through the Nothing to Declare channel, with two suitcases and a three year old son sitting on top, enjoying the ride...one of these gormless, jumped up security staff ordered the man to remove his child from atop the baggage. Now, I can't for the life of me see how a small child, catching a free ride on a luggage trolley, and heading for the door, could pose a security risk. And what if the father said no? What punishment could the sullen one dish out? Send him back inside?
These people are sad, joyless, anally retentives. I've travelled through Vancouver, Calgary, Orlando, Newark and Amsterdam in the past year. All of them a pleasure...but step back into the UK...
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I mistakenly believed that staying airside would allow me to retain my legally purchased booze. How naive and stupid was I!
What about liquids if I am connecting through Heathrow?
If you are arriving from outside the EU, all liquids must be in individual containers with a capacity not greater than 100ml. They must be placed in a single transparent, resealable bag no larger than 20cm x 20cm (8in x 8in), and must fit comfortably inside the bag so it can be fastened closed.
If you are arriving from outside the EU, all liquids must be in individual containers with a capacity not greater than 100ml. They must be placed in a single transparent, resealable bag no larger than 20cm x 20cm (8in x 8in), and must fit comfortably inside the bag so it can be fastened closed.
Perhaps Munnyspinner could invite you to join his "I'm very very angry because I don't think the regulations should apply to me" club.
Too mean to buy a long personal title
Only last Monday, I too suffered from an extreme bout...coming from Canada, and using the airside transfer between T3 and T1, my icewine, puchased in Vancouver's duty free, was deemed a security risk too great to carry onboard my final leg to Belfast.
Now I mistakenly believed that staying airside would allow me to retain my legally purchased booze. How naive and stupid was I!
Now I mistakenly believed that staying airside would allow me to retain my legally purchased booze. How naive and stupid was I!
Or did you just assume something that happened to be the outcome that you desired?
The information was all out there, waiting for you to discover it, if you'd bothered to look.
Wheeling his luggage cart through the Nothing to Declare channel, with two suitcases and a three year old son sitting on top, enjoying the ride...one of these gormless, jumped up security staff ordered the man to remove his child from atop the baggage. Now, I can't for the life of me see how a small child, catching a free ride on a luggage trolley, and heading for the door, could pose a security risk.
The airport is full of prominent notices telling passengers not to allow children to ride on the baggage trolleys.
But so many airline passengers seem to lose their faculties of reading obvious notices as soon as they begin their trip.
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But so many airline passengers seem to lose their faculties of reading obvious notices as soon as they begin their trip.
Using a luggage trolley as a child mover doesn't strike me as sensible but maybe the perp had no common sense, hadn't seen the signs or had seen them and ignored them?
20 years ago and more.....I know I am an unrealsitic dreamer but, I remember when you could just turn of and fly. On the BA shuttle you could buy a book of flight vouchers and just go. Did we have security then - I really can't remember, but , I'm sure I do remember once buying a ticket on the flight. And if you had a ticket but there weren't enough seats - they'd put another flight on for you.
Wait a minute - surely that never happened.
I know why we have all these rules and regulations but it isn't a surprise to me that pax can't keep up with the requirements of aviation and the need to do this or do that or not do this or not do that, put this in plastic bag....... oh, how did it come to this?
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Re Opening Post -Cattle boats
I do remember the Queen Maude - as a very sick toddler - The rain lashing down, the disturbed cattle being tossed about below the Steerage Class Pax (i.e me) and whaling their heads off. No we dont need the cattle boats back (Holyhead - Dun Laoghaire many times ) although the scrum for a well known Lo-Co's flights does remind me of the "Boats" - Actually
The three miserable Harpies that I had to contend with at a well known Irish airport - Reps of the aforementioned Company ( 200 Eu for a flight to Stn) did fit the description Virulens.... - Perhaps the phrase "Bag for Life" describes their unhelpful attitudes - To be fair the computer system had packed up that morning, but politeness costs nothing - Its all water under the bridge now and I won't be back.
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The three miserable Harpies that I had to contend with at a well known Irish airport - Reps of the aforementioned Company ( 200 Eu for a flight to Stn) did fit the description Virulens.... - Perhaps the phrase "Bag for Life" describes their unhelpful attitudes - To be fair the computer system had packed up that morning, but politeness costs nothing - Its all water under the bridge now and I won't be back.
Cead mile Failte
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The regulations may not appear to make much sense
No Michael they make NO sense.
At a well known airport(in the UK part of Ireland) the other day, I was amused to watch a tanker driver exit the fuel farm with a tanker full of aviation fuel have a pat down search and a very thorough search of his cab for drinks. I felt immeasurably safer.
I was relating this to the off going watch manager and he told me that the fireman detailed to shoot crows in the undershoot was searched,arms aloft,whilst he held a SHOTGUN in one hand and a case of CARTRIDGES in the other.
And the BAA dumped MY XO in Gatwick(internal transfer from the US)
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whilst he held a SHOTGUN in one hand and a case of CARTRIDGES
And Michael SWS, I don't need to encourage anyone to join the club - there are more members than non members!
the fireman detailed to shoot crows in the undershoot was searched,arms aloft,whilst he held a SHOTGUN in one hand and a case of CARTRIDGES in the other.
Airport security personnell aren't employed because they have an IQ of 160. I first realised when flying a load of soldiers back from an exercise in Canada. The security people at the civilian airport made the soldiers put their rifles through the x-ray machine!
Using a luggage trolley as a child mover doesn't strike me as sensible but maybe the perp had no common sense, hadn't seen the signs or had seen them and ignored them?
If the father was endangering other passengers or property then that would be reason for a security guard to stop it - but he wasn't. He was endangering his son and, as such, the security guard should butt out of the guy's business. The airport operator is protected by the "don't do it" signs if the father was stupid enough to try and sue.
I used to love hitching a ride on the baggage trolleys and luggage belts as a kid - I can't see what security risk that these things give rise to.
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Has anyone considered what it is like to be employed in one of these positions? We all know some passengers can be rude and demanding and downright assholes. Working in security screening you would meet every one of them. Is it any wonder people who look like going off are treated with pre emptive hostility. The conditions of employment and the management hardly make for content and happy little workers. Indeed it may provide a clue to the surliness and hostility. Do people choose such vocations by choice or are they taking any old job they can get? Do they get payed well and enough to lead happy fullfilled lives? Do their work hours and conditions allow them to have a life outside work? If not are you happy to have such people, poor, insecure, unhappy and stressed looking after your security?