why the frankfurt airport is NOT my favorite.

just for the record, the munich airport is my #1 airport in the world.  or rather, the european world (the OKC will roger’s airport is pretty hard to beat…seeing as how it’s, like, the size of a grocery store and getting from one end to the other takes maybe 110 seconds).
 
after a work conference near cologne, i got on a plane and flew home (to okla-home-a, if you will) for 3.5 weeks!  getting there was a bit of an issue, though, as it always seems to be.
i’ve mentioned one time too many how much i despise having a german conversation in which the native german-speaker (after detecting a foreigner’s accent in my speech) switches to english.  this hadn’t happened in so long (so long) and i was beginning to think that maybe (just maybe!) i had arrived at that place. you know, that place where your german is so good that, suddenly, all your problems are solved?  that place where people hear you speak and they think, ‘oh, her german is so good, she must be a native speaker.  she must!’
[spoiler alert:  i had not (and still have not) arrived at that place.  and i may never arrive at that place.]
i know it’s totally normal for airport employees to speak in english.  i'm not dramatic enough to be offended by someone telling me in english, “enjoy your flight!” or, “thank you for flying with continental”, etc.  that’s why i was so surprised (albeit pleasantly so) when i checked in at the continental desk and was only spoken to in german!  {hello.  hello!  your bag is too heavy. oh, yeah, i thought that might happen.  i can take some stuff out.  how many kilos should i remove?  4 kilos.  okay!  where should i go to do this?  over to the side.  okay….  done!  perfect.  bye!  thanks! <– see?  all of this, done in german.}  the pleasantly surprised-ness continued as i passed through a security checkpoint.  {to where are you flying today?  i’m flying to the usa.  what is your reason for travel?  i’m going home.  oh, you’re american?  yes, but i live in germany.  got it, thanks.  bye. bye! <– also in german.}  i was feeling so smart, so german, so proud of myself as i walked over to terminal ‘b1’.  i was met by a disgruntled-looking woman manning the next security checkpoint, whom i greeted in german.  she replied in german and told me i was in the wrong place.  after being told to go to terminal ‘b2’, i did just that.  and this is when the story gets so good!
[spoiler alert:  by ‘good’ i do not mean ‘good’ at all.]
i greeted the employee manning the ‘b2’ security checkpoint in german and added a friendly smile for good measure (i am from oklahoma, after all).  the smile was not returned, nor was the greeting (in german, at least).  rather, our exchange went a little something like this:

you’re in the wrong place.  oh.  are you sure?  i was just at ‘b2’ and they told me to come here.  you’re in the wrong place.  yes, i know. i understood what you just said. (aaaand i’ve exhausted the last of my oklahoma friendliness.)  you need to go to a different security checkpoint.  okay…where should i go?  you need to go to a different security checkpoint.  YES.  OF THAT, I AM AWARE.  WHERE SHOULD I GO? (am i a new yorker at this point?)  you need to go to ‘a’.  are we sure that i need to go to ‘a’? i don’t want to go to ‘a’ only to be told to come back to ‘b’.  you’re in the wrong place.  oh, am i?  i didn’t know. you need to go to ‘a’.  you know, i think i’ve heard that before.  it’s going to take you a long time to get to ‘a’.  ….excuse me?  it’s going to take you 45 minutes to get to ‘a’.  ……okay.  it will take you 45 minutes to get to— right, yes.  you told me that.  i got it.  thank you.  you’ve been quite helpful, sir…quite helpful, indeed.

just for the record, it did not take me 45 minutes to get to ‘a’.  but during the 15 minutes it did take for me to get there, the following thoughts were bouncing around in my frazzled head: 

i wonder where the broken record learned english?…. i wonder if he is, in fact, a real person and not an automated recording?….  he looked like a real person, but one can’t be sure, at this point….i wonder if that interaction would have gone any easier had i been allowed to speak in german?….i wonder why i am wearing approximately 14 layers of clothing?….if one more child runs out in front of me while i am power-walking, i’m just going to barrel through them…i’m gonna do it, i swear…..okay, i won’t do it….but i secretly wanna do it….i wonder if i wrung out my clothes, how many buckets i could fill up with sweat?  i’d say 2 and a half….i’d say 3…..well, maybe 4, now.

the story ends, rather anti-climatically, with me spritzing myself in 3 spritzes of perfume (a pre-flight tradition of mine) at whichever duty-free perfume shop was nearest to my gate.  then i boarded my plane.  and 11 hours later, i’d landed in america!