Airport Pet Peeves: The Things That Really Raise the Pressure

Let me say up front: I love airports. I love flying. I have spent an unreasonable share of my life in departure halls and I wouldn't change it. And also — a few very specific human behaviours send my blood pressure through the terminal roof. I'm aware some of these make me sound like a monster. I've made peace with that. We've all been the villain in someone else's airport story; this is just me admitting which villain I am. In good humour. Mostly.

1. The sudden stop

You know the one. Someone walks briskly off a travelator, through a doorway, or out of a gate — and then, with no warning, applies the handbrake and stops dead. Behind them, a gentle pile-up of carry-ons, elbows and muttered apologies. Friend, I get it, you need to check the screen / find your passport / reconsider your life choices. All I ask is that you drift to the side to do it, like a considerate little roundabout, rather than parking in the fast lane.

2. Standing on the travelator (in the walking lane)

Yes, I'm one of those people. I optimise my gate runs. I have places to be and a connection to make, and the travelator is a productivity tool, not a fun-fair ride. That's a me problem — I own it. But here's the deal we can strike: if you'd like to stand and enjoy the gentle glide, keep to one side and leave the other lane clear. Not everyone here is on holiday. Some of us are speed-walking maniacs, and we've accepted it about ourselves.

3. Treating security like it's a total surprise

Statistically, this is not your first flight. (If it genuinely is — you're excused, welcome, it gets easier.) For everyone else: security really doesn't need to be this hard. There are enormous banners. Empty your pockets before the tray. Keep liquids to 100 ml. Two quick tells that you're at a modern airport: the big grey Smiths CT scanners (leave everything in the bag) and the pod that “x-rays” you standing in a little pose — both usually mean an upgraded lane where the whole thing is faster. The person trying to argue a 200 ml bottle through, sending the queue into the dreaded “additional screening” spiral, is the person we're all quietly praying we never get stuck behind. (A proper how-to-breeze-through-security guide is coming — it deserves its own post.)

4. Boarding-queue bumper cars

We are getting on the same plane. It is going to the same place. It will leave at the same time whether you are pressed against my backpack or standing a civilised metre back. And yet — the gentle, relentless nudging forward, as if proximity accelerates the aircraft. I have a petty little ritual for this: I turn, smile, and say “you seem to be in a hurry, please, go ahead of me.” They surge forward triumphantly… to a spot two rows up, where they then absorb the exact same delay I do. It changes nothing. It brings me a small, harmless joy. This is who I am now.

5. Unclipping the seatbelt while we're still taxiing

We have landed. We are not there. That click — the whole cabin's worth of seatbelts releasing the instant the wheels touch, while we're still rolling to the gate — is a collective act of optimism I cannot endorse. One day, a young first officer is going to stand on the brakes to make a taxiway turn on that A320, and the person who unbuckled at 80 knots is going to learn something about physics they'll never forget. The sign is right there. It is so close to going off. Wait for it.

6. Lounges that gamify the free stuff

The whole point of a lounge is calm. The food is free, the chairs are comfortable, the vibe is “you made it, breathe.” So please — do not turn access into a puzzle. I usually travel alone. You can always find a corner for one; there is no need to put a solo traveller on the longest waitlist because the only thing free is a table for six. It's a lounge, not a restaurant booking. Wave me toward the quiet seat by the window and we're both happier.

A few more we all know

• The instant recliner — seat back into your knees the second the wheels leave the ground.
• Speakerphone cinema — watching videos, on full volume, without headphones, as a lifestyle.
• The overhead-bin opportunist — one small bag, placed in the first bin by the door, eight rows from their actual seat.
• The aisle sprinter — up and hunched the moment we stop, going absolutely nowhere for the next fifteen minutes.
• Gate lice — swarming the boarding door the instant it opens, blocking it for the group actually being called. Your seat is reserved. It has your name on it.
• The headrest-yanker — hauling themselves up by grabbing the top of your seat, jolting you awake with every trip to the loo.
• Feet out. Bare feet on the bulkhead, the armrest, or — dark day — the back of your seat. There are limits.
• The e-gate fumbler — reaching the passport gate and only then beginning the search for the passport, having queued twenty minutes with nothing but time to find it.
• The backpack helicopter — spinning around in a tight queue with a full rucksack, clearing everyone behind them like a slow ceiling fan.

The one part nobody's pressure rises at

Here's the thing: strip away the queues and the bumper cars, and the actual reason we're all there is genuinely wonderful. Somewhere above the chaos, a few hundred people are being carried across the planet, and nobody's blood pressure rises at that. It's the best part — and the part you can keep once you're home. That's really why I built FlyFrame: a calm little display that shows the aircraft passing over your house in real time. No queues, no announcements, no cart. Just the nice bit of flying, on your wall. Sky in a box.

That's my list — and yes, I know exactly how some of it sounds. What raises your airport pressure? I'm always collecting more.