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MidReal Story
Craving Colombia: A Tale of Airport Antics
Scenario:on a trip to Colombia, 2 young ladies my friend christina and her friend kristen are in the airport waiting to head back home, theyve passed the international checkpoint when kristen begins to feel the effects of a massively ill timed craving, hearing her describe her craving christina begins to suffer the same fate.
they now both need to smoke but havent a cigarette among them and whats worse because theyve passed the international checkpoint they cant turn back to go outside.
no place to smoke. no cigarettes bad craving what now?
kristen decides to head to the duty free shop and purchase a carton , now they have cigarettes but no place to smoke.
so the head to the ladies room lock up and light up. no sooner does someone begin banging on the door lol
long story short theyre spraying anything they can find to try to cover the smell lol
a while later their names are called on the intercom they thought theyd been caught but it was about their flight. lol
craving satisfied long arm of law avoided
Create my version of this story
"God, I could kill a cigarette right about now," Kristen groans as we sit at the gate in the Bogota airport to wait for our plane to be called.
We’ve just passed the international checkpoint and there are no more smoking areas.
We’re both craving a smoke so badly we can taste it.
"Well, maybe we should have thought of that before we decided to fly out of Colombia. We know they have the toughest smoking laws in the world. You should have stocked up before we went through."
I tease, but truthfully I’m dying for one too.
It’s been almost a whole day since we’ve had one and my nerves are starting to get the better of me.
"I didn’t think we’d be stuck in this hellhole for so long. I thought we’d be home by now," Kristen pouts, pulling on her long blonde hair in frustration.
"We should have flown out yesterday like I wanted to. You’re the one who wanted to stay an extra day."
I shoot back, but truthfully I’m regretting that decision now too.
It’s been almost two weeks since we’ve been home and another day is going to make us that much more cranky.
We both love Colombia, but after a certain amount of time we start to hate it here.
Kristen pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through.
"What are you doing?"
Kristen's eyes scan the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Looking for a way to smoke without getting caught," she mutters, her thumbs flying across the keyboard.
I tap my foot impatiently, the craving intensifying with each passing moment.
"Come on, Kristen, we can't just sit here. We need to find a way to get our fix."
She glances up at me, a hint of excitement in her eyes.
"Wait, I think I found something."
She shows me a forum post on her phone, and I lean in to read.
"It says here that some people use the airport's ventilation system in the restrooms to smoke discreetly."
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical.
"That sounds like a long shot. But at this point, I'm willing to try anything."
Kristen nods, already on the move.
"Let's go find a bathroom and give it a shot."
We make our way to the nearest ladies' room, the fluorescent lights overhead casting an unforgiving glare.
Inside, Kristen carefully positions us under a vent, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Okay, this should do it. Light up."
She takes a cautious drag, the smoke swirling up into the vent like a wispy ghost.
I follow suit, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as the nicotine hits my system.
For a moment, we're silent, savoring the taste and smell of the cigarette.
Then, we hear footsteps outside, heavy and deliberate.
We freeze, our eyes locked on each other in panic.
But we don't move, don't breathe, hoping against hope that the vent will mask the smell.
The footsteps pause outside the door, and for a heart-stopping moment, we're convinced we've been caught.
But then they move on, fading into the distance.
We exhale slowly, our shoulders sagging in relief.
We finish our cigarettes quickly, disposing of the butts in the trash with shaking hands.
As we exit the bathroom, I glance around nervously, half-expecting to see airport security waiting for us.
But the coast is clear, and we breathe a sigh of relief as we make our way back to the gate.
Here is the next part of the story:
As we wander through the bustling terminal, scanning for secluded corners or maintenance doors, the hum of announcements and chatter of passengers creates a constant din around us.
I nod towards a small, unmarked door near an empty gate, my eyes locked on Kristen's.
She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye, and we exchange a silent understanding.
I gently test the handle; it turns easily, and we slip inside, finding ourselves in a dimly lit storage room filled with cleaning supplies.
The faint hum of ventilation reassures us, and I breathe a sigh of relief as the door clicks shut behind us.
Rows of shelves stretch out before us, stacked with boxes of toilet paper, cleaning solutions, and mops.
The air is thick with the smell of disinfectant and stale air.
I pull out the carton of cigarettes, and we light up once more, savoring our secret discovery.
The smoke curls up towards the ceiling, mingling with the musty scent of the storage room.
Kristen takes a long drag, her eyes closed in bliss, and I follow suit, feeling the tension melt from my shoulders.
For a moment, we're silent, lost in the haze of nicotine and relaxation.
Then, Kristen opens her eyes, a look of mischief sparking in their depths.
"You know, we should explore this place further," she says, her voice low and conspiratorial.
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as she takes another drag on her cigarette.
"What are you thinking?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
But before she can respond, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, growing louder with each passing moment.
My heart skips a beat as I freeze, my eyes locked on Kristen's.
"Do you think they heard us?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest.
Kristen shakes her head, her expression turning serious. "No, but we need to move fast. There's something else here we weren't supposed to find."
I blink, confused. "What do you mean?"
Kristen nudges me, her eyes darting towards a narrow gap behind a stack of boxes.
I follow her gaze, my curiosity piqued, and squeeze through the tight space after her.
The dim light reveals a small, dusty corridor leading away from the storage room.
We move cautiously, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor.
The air is stale but free from the smell of smoke, a welcome respite from the pungent aroma of disinfectant.
Kristen spots a faint glow at the end of the corridor—a hidden exit sign—and my heart begins to race in anticipation.
I push open the door, and we step into an isolated service area, the bright fluorescent lights overhead a stark contrast to the dim corridor.
Relieved, we exchange grins, savoring our narrow escape from potential discovery.
The service area stretches out before us, lined with rows of humming machinery and industrial equipment.
A lone janitor's cart stands abandoned in the corner, its contents spilling out onto the floor.
I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of freedom wash over me as we move further away from the storage room.
Kristen glances around, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Do you think this leads to the tarmac?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shrug, feeling a thrill at the thought. "Only one way to find out."
Here is the next part of the story:
Kristen and I step further into the service area, our footsteps echoing softly against the concrete floor.
The machinery hums steadily, guiding us deeper into the labyrinth of pipes and wires.
We pass rows of industrial fans and electrical panels, their labels in Spanish adding to the foreignness of our surroundings.
Kristen pauses to inspect a large metal door marked "Salida de Emergencia."
She gestures for me to help push it open.
The door creaks loudly, revealing a narrow stairwell leading downwards.
We exchange a glance, curiosity piqued, and begin descending cautiously, each step bringing us closer to the unknown.
The air grows thick with the smell of grease and machinery as we make our way down.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through my veins.
At the bottom of the stairs, we find ourselves in a cramped, dimly lit room filled with rows of computer servers and humming generators.
The air is hot and stale, heavy with the scent of burning wires and ozone.
Kristen's eyes scan the room, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"What is this place?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery.
I shake my head, equally perplexed.
Suddenly, a loud alarm blares to life, making us both jump.
The lights flicker, and the machinery around us begins to whir and groan.
My heart skips a beat as I grab Kristen's arm, my eyes locked on hers in panic.
"What's happening?" I shout over the din of the alarm.
Here is the next part of the story:
The alarm's shrill cry pierces the air, and smoke begins to seep through the cracks in the walls.
I pull Kristen towards the stairwell, our footsteps quickening as we ascend.
The smoke thickens, stinging our eyes and throats.
We reach the top, gasping for fresh air, only to find the door locked.
Kristen fumbles with her phone, trying to call for help, but there's no signal.
Desperation sets in as I scan the area for another exit.
Spotting a small window above us, I gesture to Kristen.
Together, we stack boxes beneath it, preparing to climb out.
The smoke swirls around us, making it hard to see or breathe.
I can feel my heart racing, pounding in my chest like a drum.
Kristen looks up at me, her eyes wide with fear and determination.
We exchange a silent understanding, and I boost her up towards the window.
She grasps the sill, her fingers straining as she pulls herself up.
I follow close behind, my hands grasping for hers as I hoist myself up.
The window creaks open, and we tumble out into the bright sunlight.
We land hard on the concrete rooftop, gasping for air as we look around frantically for a way down.
Kristen coughs, wiping her eyes. "What the hell was that place?" she gasps, her voice hoarse.
I shake my head, still catching my breath. "I don't know, but we need to get out of here before someone finds us."
She nods, glancing around the rooftop. "There, a fire escape," she points, urgency in her voice.
