Don't Make Me Do It Again

I'm heading down to Huntington Beach this weekend and there's no way I'm getting in a plane. I'd rather drive the I-5 than put myself through the excoriating experience that now constitutes flying within the continental USA.

Adding up the hours and factoring in getting to the airport a couple of hours ahead of the scheduled departure, allowing for the inevitable delay at the gate, allotting for the stress of being herded like sheep through the dip at the security check, and finally suffering the me-first push-and-shove of the exit from the plane, I've decided to drive. We're usually most comfortable when we're the masters of our own destinies, or at least secure in the belief that we're the masters even if we're not. And that's the illusion served to the masses careening down the nation's highways. I'm buying into the fantasy.

Mr. Loverboy (of www.lacubanagringa.com fame) was due to join The Great Organiser and me for the ride down to HB. He was in Palo Alto. We were mere minutes away. My mobile phone rang.

"Hey, Polished Turd, how's it going?"

"Not bad. We'll be there in a a minute."

"Hey, you know what? I don't think I'm going to head down there with you tonight. They're setting up a crazy party here and I think I'll just get a plane ticket and head down tomorrow."

"Have it your way. We'll see you there."

Evidently Mr. Loverboy doesn't share my disdain for the American domestic airline system. Either that or his mental calculus told him that the benefits derived from a night of partying with college students (read: girls) outweigh the detriments incurred by flying Southwest Airlines to Orange County.

Can you blame him?

Come Fly with Me

Let's talk on cellphones really loudly. Let's power dress. Let's attach our wireless electronics to our belts. Let's advertise to the world how important we are by attaching more than one. Let's strut down the concourse with obvious purpose. Let's pretend to think it's not obvious. Let's hope other people are noticing. Let's position our luggage next to a seat so as to preserve our personal space. Let's make sure we're the first in line. Let's cut in if we're not. Let's ignore the half-mumbled complaints of those around us as we edge our way in. Let's make a point of fidgeting as the jetway gets backed up. Let's block the aisle with our belly bulging from too many expensed meals while we shove, shove, shove our oversized luggage into the overhead bins. Let's argue with the flight attendant who points out that it won't fit. Let's finally be seated. Let's tilt the recliner back as far as it will go. Let's imagine that there's no seat behind us. Let's fall asleep and snore loudly. Let's have a nice flight.