The Rant. Torments and Tortures for Those Who Block Escalators and Airport Moving Walkways
- The Introvert Traveler
- 31 dic 2025
- Tempo di lettura: 2 min
Airports are places of peoples, languages, cultures. And then there is the barbarian tribe of those who block escalators and moving walkways. Motionless, embalmed, sculpted in the silicone of indifference, with the same pleasantness as a compost bag forgotten in the sun, they ignore the universal principle of “stand on the right” and remain planted in the left lane while you are desperately trying to reach your gate C56, about to close, which is always on the other side of the hemisphere.
These individuals—if we can even call them that—do not walk; they colonize like parasites. They turn public space into a personal fiefdom, convinced they are absolute monarchs of the escalator, complete with a divine right to stand still.
Their philosophy is simple:“I’m standing here. The world will adapt.”
Because it’s not just laziness. It’s exhibition. It’s hubris. It’s their soul whispering to you: “I will not move. I will never move. Make peace with the pain.”
And when you try to say, “Excuse me, may I pass?” they slowly turn around, like a lobotomized sloth, wearing the typical expression of someone who has forgotten not only basic manners, but also their very purpose in life.
They are arrogant, they are heavy, they are the definitive proof that civilization is not a natural right, but a goal that some will never reach—not even on a moving walkway dragging them along.
May the gods of duty-free, the spirits of the lounges, and the vengeful entities of security checkpoints receive the following curses with generous hearts:
May you be struck by sudden, devastating diarrhea in a Bangkok alley, with your only toilet paper being the brand-new banknotes you exchanged half an hour earlier, paying outrageous commissions.
May you discover at check-in that your seat has been “upgraded” to the one next to the obese gentleman whose armpit has not seen soap in decades.
May every time you look for your gate you receive a notification saying “indefinite delay,” until you begin to doubt the very existence of modern aviation.
May your phone battery die while you sit at the gate, realizing that the great AI bubble has finally burst without you having activated a stop-loss on your stocks, and the only charger you can find in the airport is a Soviet model from 1962 priced at 180 dollars.
May your GPS go insane and consistently suggest routes through dangerous suburbs where you will be sodomized by gangs of transsexuals carrying every known and unknown venereal disease.
May your suitcase be the last one on the carousel. Always. Even when you are traveling without checked luggage.
The Left-Lane Blockers are not people: they are bugs in the simulation, anthropological glitches, postural disorders of modernity.
This is “The Rant” where I vomit all my rancor toward the human race.
And as for the parasites of moving walkways, I have already made my decision. I no longer ask permission to pass. I pass. And I leave it to the sublime Hieronymus Bosch to conceive an eternal punishment that I wish upon the idle parasites of airport conveyor belts: simply impaled and roasted for eternity on a spit, braised in their own bodily fluids. It seems the bare minimum.
