Transit Bliss

I missed my flight at the airport and now I am sitting in the bar, wishing malice and destruction on almost everyone around me. But not the bar tender. Who else would bring me refreshing beers? I'd have to get them and we all know that isn't going to happen. I can't believe that I missed my flight. I mean granted, I arrived at the airport like four minutes before the plane left and all, but still. Who do I blame this on? There's a list, like usual.

1.Dulles. That's right, I am starting by blaming the ENTIRE airport. It's in the middle of no where and there is no train.
2.Fat Stupid Woman at Security. She stood there, holding the entire line up as she asked the Transportation Security Authority Officer about every item of clothing she had. “Do I have to take off my shoes? My hat? My puffy coat? My socks? What about my hideous sweater that I found at the bottom of a bargain bin?” Then she proceeded to put through the x-ray machine the following items, each of which caused the entire line to wait while the TSA riffled through her baggage to find the offending item: a full size bottle of shampoo, a liter bottle of Mountain Dew, a laptop, and a jar of honey. I kid you not. A jar of honey.
3.United Airlines. Uhhhhhh, the sign says that passengers must be on board ten minutes before the flight departs. It's twelve minutes before departure, Mr Gate Monkey, and you are informing me that the plane has left and you cannot let me on. The plane hasn't left, my ugly friend. I can see it, It's right there. When I point that out you get offended. Feel lucky that I didn't point out that you aren't moving much further in life.

The frustrating thing is that all around me are flights departing for London, Munich, Rome, Buenos Aires, Johannesburg... places that I would like to go. I'm going back to a square state, bitches. Let me on the plane. NOW.