Airports are fascinating places. You can take a perfectly normal, functioning adult, put them through a pair of automatic terminal doors and within eleven minutes they’ve forgotten how queues work, where they’re going, what a passport looks like and, in some cases, how chairs operate.

Here are some of our favourites.

THE AIRPORT AMNESIAC

Walks through the terminal doors and immediately loses all sense of who they are, where they are or why they’ve come. They stop dead in the middle of everybody, stare at the departure board, look at their suitcase, look at their partner and eventually ask, “Where are we going again?” You’re flying to Spain, Derek. You booked it.

THE PROFESSIONAL TUTTER

Found almost exclusively in check-in and security queues. Every 40 seconds there’s an enormous “TUT”, followed by a slow turn backwards to make eye contact with you. This is an invitation to join the resistance. You’re expected to raise your eyebrows and say, “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Nobody actually knows what’s ridiculous, but something definitely is.

THE QUEUE-BARGE FREEDOM FIGHTER

Someone pushes into the queue and the British response is immediate: tutting, head shaking and whispered declarations of “unbelievable”. A small resistance movement forms within seconds. Nobody actually says anything to the queue jumper, obviously. We’re not animals.

THE BREAKFAST TABLE SQUATTER

Finished their Full English 47 minutes ago. Coffee gone, plates removed and flight not boarding for another three hours, yet they remain firmly installed at a restaurant table for four surrounded by luggage and the remains of a doughnut. Meanwhile, 23 people carrying breakfast trays circle them looking for somewhere to sit. The squatter notices all of them and decides this would be an excellent time to start reading the news.

THE HUMAN FIDGET SPINNER

Sits next to you and immediately starts moving. Leg bouncing, coat on, coat off, bag open, bag closed, passport out, passport missing. This is followed by a frantic excavation of every compartment they own before the passport is discovered in their trouser pocket. Everything is repacked, calm briefly returns and two minutes later comes the inevitable: “Where’s my boarding pass?”

THE SECURITY ORACLE

You ask a bored security employee called Mohammed where Gate 37 is. Mohammed has worked at the airport for approximately nine years and has absolutely no idea. He looks left, looks right and eventually points vaguely towards Belgium. “Maybe that way.” Thank you, Mohammed.

THE DUTY-FREE HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR

You’re trying to get to your gate when somebody holding a bottle of aftershave intercepts you. “Would you like to try our new fragrance?” No. Unfortunately, the smile tells you you’re trying it anyway. One spray later you smell like a divorced nightclub owner called Marco and will continue to do so until approximately Wednesday.

THE BOARDING-GATE OLYMPIAN

Hasn’t run since Year 7 PE, but the second the departure screen changes to BOARDING something ancient awakens. Grandma starts hurdling suitcases, Dad abandons his family near Pret and a man in loafers produces a personal best through Terminal 2. Calm down. You have an allocated seat. This isn’t the final helicopter out of Saigon.

THE WET-HAND FLICKER

Emerges from the toilets with soaking wet hands and decides neither the hand dryer nor paper towels are necessary. Instead, they perform several enormous hand flicks while walking through the entrance. Congratulations. Everybody entering the toilet has now been lightly baptised.

THE 6AM SCAMPI FRIES PERSON

There are certain foods society has quietly agreed should not be eaten before sunrise. Scampi Fries are one of them. Yet somewhere in every British airport at 6:04am, somebody tears open a packet and releases a smell capable of travelling across three departure gates. People wake from sleep, babies begin crying and nearby aircraft request permission to taxi elsewhere.

THE GATE BLOCKER

The flight isn't boarding. In fact, it won't be boarding for another 38 minutes, but this person has already positioned themselves directly in front of the gate entrance with three suitcases. Nobody can get past and nobody understands why they're there, including the gate staff. They have Seat 24F. Their dedication to being first aboard remains magnificent.

THE OVERHEAD LOCKER WARLORD

Boards carrying a wheelie case, backpack, coat, duty-free bag and one mysterious carrier bag, then puts all five into the overhead locker before sitting down looking enormously pleased with themselves. Somebody politely asks whether they could move the coat to make room for another suitcase. The expression they receive suggests they've requested a kidney.

THE SPEAKERPHONE EXECUTIVE

A packed airport containing thousands of strangers is apparently the perfect location for a confidential business call on loudspeaker. “YEAH, KEITH, I'VE SEEN THE NUMBERS.” Excellent. So have we now, mate. By Gate 14, approximately 200 people know Keith is unhappy with Q3 and Darren might be getting sacked.

THE CAROUSEL COMMANDO

Stands approximately three millimetres from the baggage carousel with their entire family alongside them, creating an impenetrable human wall. When their suitcase eventually appears, they attempt to drag 23kg of luggage through everybody else's ankles. Move back two feet. We promise the suitcase won't escape.

THE PASSPORT PANIC MERCHANT

Has checked their passport 19 times since leaving home but still suddenly goes pale and announces, “OH GOD.” Every pocket is searched, the bag is emptied and for approximately 30 seconds the entire holiday is mentally cancelled. The passport is eventually discovered exactly where they put it. This whole performance will be repeated at the boarding gate.

THE PERSON WHO STOPS AT THE END OF THE ESCALATOR

Reaches the top of an escalator carrying 40 people and immediately stops to work out where to go next. Everyone behind continues arriving because, unfortunately, that's how escalators work. Within seconds there is an accordion of furious humans forming behind them while they calmly study a sign for Gates 1–50.

THE AIRPORT PINT PHILOSOPHER

It is 5:43am. Outside, Britain is asleep. Inside the airport Wetherspoons, a man is halfway through a pint of lager and nobody judges him. Airport rules. Time doesn't exist here. Breakfast can cost £19.50, Toblerone comes in dimensions normally associated with structural engineering and drinking beer before sunrise somehow feels entirely responsible.

Perhaps that's why we love airports. They're not really transport hubs at all. They're enormous laboratories where thousands of otherwise sensible adults are temporarily released from the normal rules of human behaviour.

And somewhere amongst them is a Tipple Tours guest, running towards Gate 46 with their passport in their pocket, Scampi Fries open, wondering why Mohammed sent them to Belgium.