Terminal Terminals

Do you know what I don’t like about flying? Airplanes. Also I’m not really a big fan of airports, airlines, or air guitar. I recently flew cross-country; of course, you all have been through this as well, so I’ll just sum up. I sat in the airport for over 5 hours, my flight was changed twice, and I received a phone call asking if I had a passport for my luggage because it had just arrived at customs in Bosnia. The craziest part was (and this is the honest truth) that my actual destination changed 3 times!

I don’t want to bore you with the tedious details of my snowbound journey through purgatory because I am not alone in this. We can all identify with the late flights, the morbidly obese couple sitting on either side of you, the snorer, the lost luggage, and of course the body cavity search. After being inconvenienced to the point of internal bleeding, I was kind of hoping that I might get bumped up to first class. I keep hearing about all these people who magically wind up in first class where all your dreams come true and instead of offering you peanuts or peanuts, they offer you a chance to fly the plane or take a pony ride up and down the aisle. I have a friend who swears that she once got bumped up to first class because she was seated next to a sleeping man with severe gas. I don’t believe her, and let me tell you why. I strongly suspect that the airlines have spread the whole “you might get bumped up to first class” rumor as some kind of unconventional PR scheme. Well I’m on to them. What I think actually happened was that the airline told my friend that either she would tell everyone that she got bumped up to first class or they would shut off the oxygen masks that she had been using to breathe while sitting next to the human methane factory.

No, not only did I not get bumped up to first class, but I actually got put further back in the plane. I had to sit almost in the very back row, in the section where they’ve replaced the seats with those little cages that they raise veal in. When you sit in the front, the flight attendants are patient and congenial. But I think the airlines use ex-cons to staff the back 10 rows, because my stewardess’s name was Harvey, and she had several frighteningly anatomically correct tattoos. Also the attendants back there are less patient and more apt to use cattle prods and bull whips.

Normally I would be opposed to such treatment; however, even I could see the necessity of it in light of the unruly and violent infant population lurking under the seats. There was an altercation with a 2 year old and about 3 of the flight attendants that strongly reminded me of that scene from the beginning of Jurassic Park where they are trying to contain one of the dinosaurs and things go terribly wrong so you just see the guy standing there in the rain yelling, “Just shoot her! Just shoot her!” All I can say is that it did not end well for the flight attendants.

I personally see no logical explanation for the fact that we are able to build huge metal vehicles that can travel hundreds of miles an hour, soaring through the sky. Yet we can’t make them arrive on time, or even be civil about it. The only explanation that I can think of is that the US aero-space industry has been cursed. My bet is that some gypsy somewhere was offended in some way, possibly by a flight attendant smacking her in the mouth for asking for more pretzels. Until we find that gypsy and make things right, we’re all doomed.

I realize that I probably sound a little irritable right now. But I’m writing this while still on the plane and I have a sleeping gentleman’s elbow in my gut and he is resting fitfully to say the least. So next time you fly, I recommend asking your travel agent about the flight plan that comes with an anesthesiologist. Also if anybody, anywhere knows who that gypsy is, tell her we’re really sorry.