This week, I flew out to LA for a meeting that… once I got there everyone ended up joining via zoom. Awesome.
After a couple of cranky hours, and LA traffic, I head back to LAX and stroll into the Amex lounge (I had 4 hours to kill—we were supposed to go out to dinner, but… didn’t). The bartender remembers me now because I’m in and out of LA a couple times a month now. “Hey you! Welcome back!“, and pours me—without my asking—I shit you not, 1/4 of a bottle of bourbon in a glass. That $700 amex platinum is paying for itself. She freaking rules. I grab some food and just hang out.
Because of her heavy hand (thankfully, the second one was a little more reasonable), and since I also HAVE missed a flight home from here before—I leave on the earlier side knowing I’ve got a lot of cushion to walk to the terminal (and then take a bus) to get to the gate… (I’ve timed it: ~20 minutes from lounge to gate +-7min… and yes, you have to take a bus to get to the gate, fuck LAX)… But I’m leaving with tons of time so I can go to the bathroom, hangout, get water.
As I’m getting into terminal 4, the fire doors slam down in the corridor I’m in. I can’t lift them. Airport staff arrive. They can’t open them (oh, and there is no fire). Police come. They can’t open them… guys—I’m going to miss my flight. I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes. Cop says Fire is on the way, but 30 minutes out. I will definitely miss my flight.
I ask one of the airport guys how I can get around. His answer: “Go back to terminal B, exit the airport, get a taxi, and have it whip you around to the other side of Terminal 4. Go through security again. I’ve done it in less than 15 minutes before. You can do it, run!“. In hindsight, I do believe that son of a bitch was fucking with me, and hope both sides of his goddamned pillow are hot every night eternally.
So I start off on a sprint. Run all the way back to Terminal B. Can’t find the exit. Ask someone. Explain the situation. Dude straight up says “Naw, bruv. You fucked. You can’t get out here… you gotta go back…“
I run back to the fire doors. There’s now 200+ people here. It’s starting to get ugly. More cops come. The cops start escorting us (in groups of 5), through the security doors, through the admin side of the airport, on to the tarmac, and back up, around the closed fire door…
I finally get through. Sprinting through the terminal to the bus. Run through the second terminal. Group 9 has already boarded. Doors are closing… But, I fucking made it. I’m in first class (it was $18 to upgrade, I’m worth it), and I flop down—not just sweaty, but completely fucking drenched and gasping… like someone out of a sauna or a 60 min spin class—into my seat.
I am so sorry to everyone on that plane. I know I stank like hell. Also, fuck LAX.