Airport monkeys

I’ve heard a lot of strange things at airports and on airplanes; children screaming about monsters in the overhead bins, one-sided phone conversations reminiscent of a shady drug deal, and impromptu reviews of recent food court purchases gone bad. Perhaps the funniest, and simultaneously most unsettling, was the Southwest flight attendant who forget to shut off the PA before take off and cited the need for a major, “lav dump in Albany.”

But in our nation’s capital, (to be accurate Dulles Airport is located in Virginia, but who’s counting?), the chatter seems more muted, at least when it comes to the odd or the interesting. Passengers are too honed in on checking their multiple smart phones and conversation is dominated, as it so often is in Washington, D.C., by legislative jargon and topical chitchat. You’d be more apt to overhear a two men in a suits verbally posturing for the promotion at their K Street firm than a memorable tidbit.

Then again, sometimes the travel gods toss you a surprise that you just aren’t ready for, and frankly aren’t sure how to react.

I was filling out a crossword puzzle, nestled in a seat waiting for my 6+ hour flight to London Heathrow. My wife was nodding off on my shoulder, her input on 24-across reduced to mere mumbles. I felt myself starting to doze when the airline attendant announced we would be boarding shortly.

Along with the other overseas travelers around us, we packed up our time-wasters and moseyed into a haphazard line. A businesswoman stood behind us, a young couple right in front and a businessman to the side. We all exchanged those courtesy half smiles – you know, the ones you give just in case you’re sitting next to these people for the next six or seven hours.

The airport-wide speaker made an announcement that some gate across the campus was looking for someone that was supposed to be boarding, some innocuous name like Smith or Johnson. Our individual gate airline attendant made an announcement about boarding.

We stood waiting. Another announcement from the gate attendant let us know we would board momentarily. So we waited some more. After ten more minutes and no boarding, the frustration of all travelers began to percolate in the form of shuffling in place and agitated glances.

Still more waiting. I wished we had stayed in our seats with our crossword puzzle.

After another ten minutes or so, that bubbling frustration was starting to spill over. One traveler made an off-hand comment to no one in particular that garnered a similar response from the person standing beside him. There was clearly tension as we approached that make or break moment when you hear the attendant say either, “now boarding” or “there has been a slight delay.” But our gate attendant remained silent.

Then the PA system crackled on and a gate attendant made an announcement. Unfortunately it was not our gate attendant but rather an airport-wide call for a missing passenger.

“Can I have your attention please,” the female announcer said. “Would Zurich passenger Get-A-Monkey-Bed please come to Gate C-25.”

Then she paused, everyone in line around me looked up at the ceiling for the omniscient metallic voice that just said something about a monkey bed. The pause broke and the announcer started again.

“Um, yes. Passenger Getta, um, Getta Monkey . . . Monkey Bed. Yes, Get – a –  Monkey – Bed please come to report to Gate C-25.” Then she did something as unprofessional and yet wholly hilarious as I’ve ever experienced – she burst out laughing with the microphone still on.

But it had an affect on those around that I’m sure the gate attendant was thankful for, if not a bit mystified about. The tension that had been building form our delay erupted not in anger but in laughter.

The woman from the couple near me said to her companion, “Did she just say ‘go get a monkey bed?’”

The businessman replied to her between laughs, “I think she did. I think she just said ‘monkey bed.’”

When she came back on the PA system and announced it again a few minutes later, “Get – a – monkey – bed,” I think the entire terminal burst out in hysterics. Even the gate attendants were chuckling up at the desk.

I heard the practical businesswoman say, “I think she’s pronouncing that name wrong.” No kidding.

The comic relief must have spurred something because in the midst of laughter we were called by our own gate attendant to start boarding our flight.

Just before we started down the jet way, another airport-wide announcement was made – by a different announcer, a male voice this time.

“Can I have your attention please,” he said. “This is the last call for Ibed Gettamunk. That’s Ee-bed Getta-monk. Please report to Gate C-25.”

I’m pretty sure the incident made our flight to London a little more enjoyable. But I never did find out if Ibed ever made it to Zurich.