Happy New Year!

What a lousy-ass year 2006 was. A slew of deaths in the family, the Cubs had their worst season ever, and I gained ten pounds of pure fat. I’m glad it’s over.

As I always do at this time of the year, I want to make one very public resolution. I have already made dozens of private ones, and have broken most of them already. But I also like to make one resolution in public, because I believe that if it’s public, I may stick to it.

But I’m going to twist around the whole New Year’s Resolution concept. Instead of using my resolution to change my own bad habits, I am going to resolve to change the bad habits of other people. It’s my way of helping the world out.

Specifically, I am going to change the bad habits of a nasty, despicable tribe of scum suckers that I like to call The Airport People.

Since I travel so much, I spend half my life with The Airport People. They are the loudmouthed packs of salespeople who think they are everybody’s best friend; they are the hot-shot businessmen who talk loudly and incessantly on their cell phones no matter where they are; they are the retards who, despite the fact that they fly every week, can’t get organized enough to get through the security process quickly.

They are the people who ask the bartender to change the station on the TV when I am watching the Cubs game. They are the people who interrupt my reading to ask me if I like my book. They are the people who wreck my quiet airport bar time with those two horrible, conversation-staring words: “Going home?”

They are the people who don’t tip the bartender enough. They are the people who over tip the bartender and then make sure that everybody knows about it. They are the people who bring stinky, messy, drippy sandwiches into the airport bar or, worse yet, onto the plane itself, and then eat them right next to me, chewing loudly and stinking up my personal air space.

There are legions of horrible Airport People, and I can’t possibly change the habits of all of them. But, by calling attention to the worst of the worst by writing about them, maybe I can do my small part to make air travel a little more bearable for all of us.

To that end, starting today and running through next week, I will reveal my Top Five List of Horrible Airport People. If you find yourself on this list, take a hard look at yourself. Make some changes. Be a better person. At least be a better traveler.

And if you know people who are on this list, please show them this series. Maybe, by all working together, we can take back our airports.

To begin the series, today I give you #5 on the Top Five List of Horrible Airport People:

#5: The Seat Recliners: These are the people who immediately and forcefully recline their airplane seats all the way back, as far as they can possibly go, the minute they are allowed to do so. Some of them do it before they are allowed to do so. They do this with absolutely no regard for the people behind them.

Reclining your seat back, especially on smaller airplanes where there is absolutely no room, is an incredibly selfish thing to do. It can ruin the flight for the person behind you.

I equate reclining your seat on an airplane to passing gas on an airplane. You’re either the kind of person who does it, or you’re the kind of person who never would. And it’s no coincidence that Seat Recliners are often chronic gas passers, too.

If you’re ever wondering who just stunk up Rows 15 through 18, look for the nearest seat recliner. It was probably him.

In fact, after years of scientific study, I have come to the conclusion that there is a direct correlation between people who recline their seats on airplanes, and people who pass gas on airplanes. My theory follows:

There are actually three categories of Seat Recliners, and three categories of Gas Passers. And the different kinds of Seat Recliners match up perfectly with the different kinds of Gas Passers.

Category #1: Unabashed Seat Recliners and Chronic Gas Passers. These are the people who just do it. The minute they can, they slam their seats back as far as they go and let out a noxious stream of poisonous fumes. They don’t think about the person sitting behind them, or the people around them. They just recline all the way back and fart with wild abandon. Why? Because they can. And because they are selfish. They only care about themselves.

By the way, these are the same people who go through the express lanes at grocery stores with 27 items. They cut in line at amusement parks. They ride on the shoulder to get to the exit ramp faster. They talk to their friends, loudly, during movies.

They give no thought to anyone but themselves. They live life by their own rules, and those rules allow farting and seat reclining whenever and wherever they want to.

Category #2: The Apologetic Recliners and Bashful Gas Passers. These are the people who turn around and look back at you, as if to say “sorry,” and then slowly recline all the way back. Why do they go slowly? Maybe they think we won't notice what they're doing. And why do they bother looking back? Do they think you’re going to say: “It’s okay! Recline your seat and push my tray table into my spleen. I forgive you!”

And, like Category #1 people, these folks also pass gas on airlines . . . but they at least have the decency to feel bad about it. They aren’t horrible people, like the pigs in Category #1 . . . they’re just lazy. And given the choice between quietly farting in their seat or getting up to go to the bathroom, they let it fly right there at 21D. They feel bad about it, but not bad enough to get off their dead asses and go to the bathroom.

They feel bad about reclining their seat, and they feel bad about farting . . . but they still do it. That’s Category #2.

Finally, you have Category #3: The Non-Recliners and Never Pass Gassers. The good people. We would never recline our seat, and we would never fart on a plane.

Category #3 is filled with people like me, who realize that the three inches of incline that I will get by reclining my seat back isn’t worth ruining the entire flight for the person behind me. People like me, who realize that the recycled air in an airplane is bad enough, without making it worse by expelling noxious fumes into the system.

If you find yourself in Category #3, with me, then you need to help me change the behavior of Categories 1 and 2. And I know how to do it, because I’ve done it before.

When they recline their seats, make them as miserable as they are making you. Jam your laptop into the backs of their seats once every couple of minutes. If you’re on the aisle, get out of your seat a lot . . .and every time, use the back of their seat to pull yourself up out of your seat. Then grab their seat on the way back and slowly, forcefully, pulling very hard on their seat, ease yourself back down into your spot.

Shake your tray table. Kick the bottom of their seat. Hit the back of their seat with your forearm, your elbow, even your head . . . every chance you get.

Eventually, they will get the message: Chronic seat reclining will no longer be tolerated.

Now, I still don’t know what to do about the farting. Some people are just pigs, and I don’t know that there is anything we can do about that.

Tomorrow, we’ll talk about Horrible Airport Person #4: The Procrastinator.

Well . . . that was fun.

Last week, I asked you all to help me wage jihad on the terribly annoying people you find in airports these days, and started my Top Five List of Terrible Airport People with #5: Seat Recliners. Since almost 30 people commented on that item, we here at Corporate Hallucinations have decided to continue with our list.

Today, we announce #4 on the Top Five List of Terrible Airport People:

The Procrastinators.

These are the people who simply aren’t prepared to travel in a modern airport. They are not organized. And if, God forbid, enough of them are at any given airport at the same time, they can drag the entire security process to a screaming halt.

I know you’ve seen these people. They first make themselves known at the very beginning of the security process . . . while everybody is standing in line, waiting to get to that first security checkpoint, where a harried TSA employee checks your license and boarding pass.

You can always tell when there’s a Procrastinator in the line. He'll be the one who doesn’t have his boarding pass or his license in hand. Instead, he is talking on his phone, or fingering his Dingleberry, or staring off into space, or chatting with the people around him.

This causes me to shake with rage, because I know what’s going to happen. He’s going to get up there to the checkpoint, and he’s going to have to start the procedure from scratch:

As the rest of us wait precious seconds, he’s going to have to dig out his wallet, pull out his license, and then rifle through his carry-on for his boarding pass, which of course never should have been put away to begin with.

And then, of course, he won’t move until he has put his license back in his wallet, his wallet back in his pocket, and his boarding pass back in the carry on.

Now, you may be thinking: It’s not that big of a deal, right? How long can it possibly take, right?

Well, I’ve seen Procrastinators take as long as one full minute to find their stuff. But let’s say it takes, on average, 30 seconds.

Not much time, you say? Well, what if, over the course of the day, 500 procrastinators all take 30 seconds? Do you know how long that is? It’s . . . well, I’m not an accountant, but it’s probably about six hours.

And the real problem is that these bedwetters have only just begun to hold up the line. They haven’t even started to do their real damage yet. Oh, no. The real damage happens at “The Bins.”

After the first checkpoint, these idiots usually continue to talk on their cell phone or play with their Dingleberries the entire time they are standing in line. It’s almost as if they don’t remember that they’re going to have to deal with an x-ray machine at all.

Their thought process must goes like this:

Procrastinator (thinking to himself): God, I love this Blackberry. I just know that when I send lots of messages to people, they think I’m real busy and important. I mean, how important am I if I have to send messages while standing in line at an airport? VERY important, that’s how important. God, I love this thing. I think I’ll send a message to Ken about our fantasy baseball team and . . . . hey now, what’s this? What’s with all these grey bins? Why is that woman taking off her shoes? What the heck is going on here . . . oh, RIGHT! We have to go through this little security thingy, don’t we?

Who knows what these idiots are thinking. Maybe they are aware of the security checkpoint, but they think they won’t have to go through it this time. Maybe they think someone will recognize them and wave them through. Maybe they think there is a special line for really important people with Blackberries, and that the line for really important people doesn’t have an x-ray machine.

For whatever reason, these morons don’t start their own personal prepping process until they are standing at the bins. And then the show begins.

You’ve seen these sons of bitches, right? First, they take off their outer coat very, very carefully . . . and fold it very, very carefully . . . and place it in the bin very, very carefully, so that it won’t get horribly wrinkled during the FIVE SECONDS it will be on the belt.

Then, they start with their personal items . . . and man, do they have personal items. They have to take off their watch. Then they take off their jewelry. Then they finally put away their Blackberry. Now, all the change comes out of their pockets. Along with any pens. Ooops. Don’t forget the money clip. Almost forgot the money clip.

And now . . . now, they start thinking about their computer. Again, moving very slowly, they take this precious, precious cargo out of their briefcase. They gently place it in the bin. They then take the time to carefully close up their briefcase—the more snaps and buckles the better—before they set it in a separate bin. (Procstratinors hate the idea of the Naked Belt. Everything goes into a bin. Which of course depletes the bin supply, and holds up the line even further as someone eventually has to go wake up a TSA employee and ask him for more bins).

At this point, you want to strangle the Procrastinator . . . but he’s not done yet! Oh, no . . . asshole still has his shoes on. And of course they are very fancy shoes, and they are fully tied. No simple slip-on loafers for the Procrastinator! That would be too easy!

No . . . he has to carefully untie his shoes, and then find another bin to place them in. God forbid the bottom of his shoes, the same shoes that walk across dirty floors all day, go on the Naked Belt.

Now he’s ready to go through. OH! No he’s not! He forgot his belt. Another 10 seconds, another bin . . . and now he’s ready.

Or is he? He’s not sure himself, is he? No, he’s not. That’s why he stands there like Forrest Gump, absently patting himself all over, making sure he doesn’t have a steak knife or brass knuckles somewhere on his person.

Finally, he is ready to go. And off he goes to clog up the OTHER side of the belt, as he patiently and carefully gets dressed again.

We need to get these losers organized.

By the time I get to the bins, my shoes are off, my computer is out, my cell phone and sunglasses are put away, and all my change is in my briefcase. I only have to drop my shoes and bag on the belt, my computer in a bin, and I’m through.

When people complain about the long lines in airports, they usually blame the TSA folks. But it’s not them. It’s the Procrastinators. Get organized! Be ready!

I am far and away the least organized person I know, and I’m drunk half the time I show up at an airport. If I can do this, anyone can.

Okay, onward and upward.

Last week, Corporate Hallucinations announced its holy war on the irritating, despicable Airport People who populate airports today. First, we outed folks who rudely recline their seats back all the way, making it impossible for the person behind them to work, relax, drink, or breathe.

We also called out the people who hold up the security lines because they’re not organized—and who take forever to get through the various checkpoints.

Those were numbers 5 and 4 on the Top Five List of Terrible Airport People.

Let’s do number three.

#3 on the Top Five List of Terrible Airport People:

People who won’t get off their cell phones. Ever. Not when they’re boarding the plane, not when they’re getting off the plane, not when they’re checking in at the desk, not when they’re at the airport bar . . . never.

I remember about two years ago, I walked into an airport bathroom at O’Hare. As I was doing my business at the urinal, I heard voices coming out the stall. At first I thought: People are either having sex in the stall, or doing cocaine together. How cool is that, I remember thinking.

But then I realized it was only ONE voice. So then I thought: Oh, just another airport pervert, in there talking to his genitals. Happens all the time, right?

But then I noticed pauses in the conversation. And I noticed that the man was actually answering questions. Now, I’ve heard of crazy people talking to their genitals . . . but I’ve never heard of the genitals talking back and asking questions.

That’s when I realized that the pervert in there was on the phone. Yes, that’s right. He was in the stall, moving his bowels, talking to a business colleague.

At the time, I was shocked. And two years ago, someone talking on a phone in a public bathroom was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence. Now . . . it’s common practice. At least five out of the ten times I go into an airport bathroom, some jerk in there is talking on the phone.

I’m always tempted to mess with these people. Last month, I was in a Texas airport, standing at a urinal, when some hot shot came in, talking on his phone, and continued the conversation as he stood next to me, unzipped, pulled out, and started going.

I was so tempted to screw with him. Some of my options could have been:

1. Let out a repeated series of long, loud moans as I peed. "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD THAT FEELS GREAT!!!!!!" Loud enough to disrupt his conversation.

2. Say things very loudly so the person on the other end of the line would be able to hear. Things like: “GEEZ, YOU’D THINK THAT THE BATHROOM IN A GAY BAR WOULD BE A LITTLE CLEANER.”

Or, “HEY HEY, PAL. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY: IF YOU SHAKE IT MORE THAN SIX TIMES YOU’RE MASTURBATING HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.”

3. Or I could “accidentally” misdirect my urine stream, so that it started splashing on the guy’s shoes, to see if that could get him to get off the phone.

Of course, I did none of those things. I’m too chicken.

But as anyone who travels a lot knows, it’s not just the bathrooms . . . these clowns never get off the phone. They can’t stop talking long enough to order a drink at the bar. They talk all the way through the security line. They talk in the food lines. They talk while they are checking in at the gate.

And . . . they talk on the phone the entire time they board the plane. That’s the most irritating part, because they slow down the entire boarding process. They have to try and find their seat, get stuff out of their carry on, put the carry on away, sit and buckle in . . . all with one hand because the other hand is holding the damn phone. It takes them twice as long to board.

They can’t hang up for the 45 seconds it would take to do this, and because they can’t, they hold up the entire boarding process for everyone.

Whenever some loser comes onto the plane and he’s still talking on the phone, I start listening to his conversation intently, because I’m dying to know what is so important that he can’t hang up and call the person back once he's seated, and before the plane takes off.

And you know what? The conversations are never that important. You never hear things like:

“Don’t forget to give the baby his scarlet fever medicine.”

Or, “Goddamnit, SELL!!! Sell the stock now or we’re bankrupt!!!”

Or, “I swear I’m going to tell her I want a divorce next week, honey lips. Just give me one more week!”

Or, “I don’t know how you got it, babe. Maybe you sat on an infected toilet seat.”

Or, “Remember, if I die in a plane crash, you’ve got to go to my house before the police get there and flush the reefer, ditch the porn, and get rid of the Taiwanese basket, okay?”

No, the conversations I hear are more usually along the lines of:

“Yeah . . .I’m getting on a plane. Yeah . . . looks pretty full. Supposed to be an on-time flight, but this is United, heh heh.”

Or, “I bought a sandwich in the airport. I don’t know, it looks like ham. Or maybe turkey. I don’t know. What are you having for dinner?”

Here’s a suggestion. If you absolutely have to make a call before the flight takes off, try this:

Board the plane first. Get your ass up the tunnel, find your seat, stow your bag, put your book in the seat back, and sit the hell down. You will now have anywhere between 15 minutes and 3 hours before the plane takes off, to make your calls. Do it then.

Isn’t that enough time?

We have two slots left on our Official Top Five List of Terrible Airport People!

So far, we’ve covered Seat Recliners, Procrastinators, and Cell Phone Addicts. We’ve got two categories left, and I need to hurry up and finish, for a couple of reasons:

First, it’s time to move on to other things. This has been fun, but we need to get back to work.

Second, I’m getting a vasectomy exactly 2 hours from now, and I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to write anymore after the procedure.

I have this irrational fear that I’m some kind of modern-day Sampson, and all my creativity is stored in my testicles. And that once the doctor takes a knife to my guys, my creative juices are going to flow out and be gone for good. I can already see myself standing in the doctor’s office, my career and my livelihood puddling about my feet.

I hope I’m just delusional because I’ve had nothing to eat or drink for 12 hours. . . but you never know. So here we go.

Number Two on the list of Official List of Terrible Airport People:

He-Man Carry-On Baggers.

These are the people who absolutely refuse to check their luggage.

Now, listen: I don’t like to check luggage either. Nobody likes having to wait for the checked luggage to come out onto the carousel. It adds 20 minutes to the time you have to spend in an airport. I know checking luggage sucks. But sometimes you have to.

And I can’t stand the people who refuse to check a bag. Ever. It’s some kind of weird point of pride thing with them. They think anyone who ever checks a bag is some kind of rookie loser newbie who shouldn’t be allowed to travel in the first place.

And here’s the thing: It’s always men who feel this way, and they always seem to turn it into some kind of macho manhood thing. It’s almost as if the size of their bag that they refuse to check has something to do with the size of their genitals.

I hear these people bragging in the airports all the time. It sounds like this:

Jerk #1: You know, I haven’t checked a bag in seven years. Checking bags is for suckers. I’m going to be gone for two weeks, but I still didn’t check a bag. Heh heh. I’m flying a puddle jumper, and I’m not even sure the damn thing will fit on the plane, but I don’t care! I never check! And I have a massive man package, too, if you know what I mean!

Jerk #2: God damn right. Only tourists check bags. You know what else I like to do, besides carry this big-ass bag on the plane and hog all the storage space? I like to board at the last possible minute, and then make the flight attendant find space for this bad boy. And I have huge testicles!

Jerk #3: Yeah, boarding early is for suckers. I’m always the last one on the plane, and you know what? I always find a place for my bag, even if sometimes it takes ten minutes and the flight attendant has to move everyone else’s stuff around. And you should see the size of my penis!

Jerk #4: Man oh man, I love to board late and move other people’s shit around and roll their coats up into tight little balls, in order to fit my huge oversized bag in the overhead bin. I love it when someone has a trench coat up there. I will smash it up into a lump and stick it under the dirty wheels of my massive carry-on wheelie luggage. And you think my suitcase is big? You ought to see my testicles! They wouldn’t even fit in the overhead compartment . . . but guess what? I’m not checking them, either! Because I don’t check anything!

Jerk #5: I hear you, my macho non-bag-checking brothers. I love moving other people’s shit around. I hate those saps with their tiny little baby bags, who board early so they can be sure to get a spot for their faggoty carry-ons that only hold enough for a day or two. I’ve actually asked people to move their little homo purse bags to the spot under their seat, so I can get my mongo rollerbag into the overhead. My bag is so big it can fit all of our penises . . . but I still won’t check it!!

All the Jerks: “YEAH!!!!”

These non-checkers have always been a pain in the plane; and they suck up all the space in the airport bars too, where their luggage takes up enough room for two people. That’s bad enough. But now that you can’t carry gels or lotions on the plane, they’re even more of a pain in the ass.

Now they hold up the entire security line because they have to open up their huge carry-ons, take out their gels and lotions, put them in a separate bin, then put them back in the bag on the other side, then carry their oversized bags onto the plane at the last minute and then jam them somewhere.

As I said, I try to carry on my luggage when I can. But sometimes you can’t. Especially nowadays, with the new security regulations. Live with it. The 20 minutes you have to wait for your luggage won’t kill you. And it will make everyone else’s life easier.

And now, I’m off to get snipped. I know I shouldn’t be nervous. I know it’s a simple procedure. I just get worried because during my preliminary examination, I overheard the doctor talking to the nurse, and he was saying things like, “we’re going to need some special equipment,” and “call John Deere,” and “hydraulics,” and stuff like that. So I’m worried.

If my next post—when I’ll reveal the #1 Terrible Airport Person—is lame, you’ll know my worst fears have come true, and that my creativity has walked hand in hand with my manhood out the door.

Wish me luck. See you on the other side.

All right . . . let’s wrap this up. We’ve already identified four of the Top Five List of Terrible Airport People—the folks who make modern air travel a miserable experience.

We’ve outed the kamikaze seat recliners, the incessant cell phone talkers, the bed wetters who can’t get organized enough to get through security quickly, and the selfish jerks who refuse to ever check a bag and hog up all the space in the bars and on the planes.

It’s time for #1.

But first, I have to be honest. The people I’m putting at #1 probably don’t deserve the Top Spot on the list. They probably aren’t the most irritating people in the airport.

I also have to admit that I have good friends who fall into this category. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t irritating.

Finally, I have to admit that this isn’t solely an airport problem. But I do see a higher concentration of these people in airports than I do anywhere else.

So although they don’t deserve the #1 Spot, I’m giving it to them anyway. Because I can do that, because it’s my blog, and because I hate them.

So without further ado, #1 on the List of Terrible Airport People is:

The BlueToothers. Oh, you know who you are. You little Star Trek Wannabes who walk around the airports with those little dildos in your ears. Those little dildos with the flashing blue lights.

Go into any modern airport, and you’ll see dozens of these dorks walking around the airports carrying on conversations with themselves.

I hate these people because they confuse me. I’ll be waiting in line for a sandwich, and someone behind me will say, “I’m about to get a sandwich.”

And I’ll look around and see the person standing there by himself and assume he's talking to me, and I'll think: “Well, me too, Rainman. This is, after all, the sandwich line.”

And it takes me about ten seconds to figure out that he wasn’t talking to me. He’s a Bluetoother, talking to somebody else.

Bluetoothers think they are so important that they have to have a phone fastened to their ear at all times. They probably wear their little dildos to bed, just in case the President calls in the middle of the night with an update on the Iraq war.

I have this morbid fantasy that I’m sitting in an airport bar, and a Bluetoother sits down next to me and starts yapping to himself and interfering with my private air space. I fantasize that I get up as if to go to the bathroom, fake a stumble, and as I’m falling, I fall into the person, reach out with my hand, and ram the Bluetooth dildo through his ear drum and halfway into his brain.

Then, as he lays there with pinkish, frothy blood oozing out and around his Bluetooth device, I lean over and yell into his super-secret concealed spy phone: “He’ll have to call you back!”

Have we really reached a point where we have to have communication gear fastened to our heads? Are we really that busy? Do we have to talk on the phone that much, to warrant having a metal prod stuck in our ear?

Now, I may be wrong, but I think it’s a guy thing. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a woman with a Bluetooth in her head. It’s mostly guys who do this.

Which leads me to a theory on why they do it. I think the Bluetooth is a subconscious extension of their penises. Yes, that’s right. The Bluetooth isn't a tooth at all. It's a metal penis.

Every guy, when he was five years old, wanted to show the world his penis. It’s just something that’s inside of us. We want to say, “Hey everybody! Look at what I have! Look how cool I am!”

And one could make an argument that, with some men, the urge to show off their penises never really goes away. The wives of these men know this. The wives of these men are constantly dealing with their husbands coming out of the shower with the towel hanging on their penises, and stuff like that.

But these guys also know that they can’t show it in public anymore. So they bury the urge to do so deep down in their subconscious.

Then something like the Bluetooth device comes along. It’s sort of shaped like a penis, isn’t it? And they can have it stick out in public! And they feel cool when they show it, and they feel important when other people see it.

It takes them back to when they were five years old, showing someone their penis. Once again, they can say: “Hey everybody! Look at what I have! Look how cool I am!”

Only now they won’t have to go into a timeout.