Why I hate plane travel

Let me explain to you as quickly as I can why I hate to travel, even though, if you know me well enough (or read this page enough) you’d think I travel by plane every two seconds. This is due mostly to having a sick mother 3000 miles away, and also in some small part in my need to jet set. Well…

I’m currently on a US Air flight to Miami, with a brief stopover in Charlotte. It’s 1:30 in the morning, and there is no way in hell I’m going to sleep. I’m sandwiched in the bitch seat and the AC isn’t working. Not to mention the fact that this was not the first plane I was supposed to be on, nor the second, nor the third…let me explain…

So. It’s May 1, around, oh 4PM. I’m cleaning up my apartment, minding my own business, and someone from ATA (the airline I had initially chosen for my trip) calls me to tell me some bad news. It seems that the US military has commandeered my connecting flight from Chicago (my original stopover point) in order to fly troops home from Iraq. Now, in principle, I have no problem with this whatsoever, since I was such an hawkish supporter of the war, I have no right to complain. However, they aren’t supposed to be taken already booked flights, so that left me a little confused.

Regardless, the nice lady was able to put me on a flight at 11:45, getting me into Ft. Lauderdale at 11am the next morning. I figured, great, since my original flight was at 6 in the friggin morning, I could just sleep when I got to the hotel all day. Fine and dandy. I bade my cat goodbye and headed to the airport.

And then the shit began to pile up…

I get to the airport terminal. Terminal 2, to be exact. I walk in there with all of my bags..and they tell me to go to Terminal 3…ON FOOT. Fine. I go.

I get to the ATA counter…and the line is around the block. O-kay.

I finally get up to the counter…45 minute delay on the plane. No problem, I can still make my connecting flight. Kewl. I go through security. I get chosen out of all the passengers for the security monkeys to spread my cheeks and go prospecting.

That ordeal done with, I hobble to the gate…and I look at the board…and it says my flight is leaving at 3:00. That must be a mistake…nope. 4 HOUR DELAY.

10 minutes of an idiot who barely spoke a word of English…he tells me to go all the way back to the terminal and talk to someone. They know I’m coming.

Okay. I head all the way the fuck back. And get in that damn line. Again.

I get up to the counter. Get another just-fresh off the boat dude who doesn’t like me, has never heard of me, and doesn’t want to help me. 10 minutes later, he gives me this.

“There is a US AIR flight leaving for Charlotte. It’s 11:20 now. It leaves in 25 minutes. They aren’t answering the phone down there, so you’re going to have to run.”

I thank him and get my bearings. I’m at terminal 3. US AIR is at terminal 1.

Suddenly, 5 weeks of the gym are going to pay off.

If you were at LAX anywhere between terminal 3 and 1 at around 11:25 Thursday night, and you were wondering who that maniac with the bags running top speed down the terminal was, let me kill the mystery for ya; it was me.

I get there. I pull out all the stops. My ID. My US AIR Id. My fake ID. I get a ticket…middle seat. But a seat nonetheless. I go through security. And once again, I am chosen to be explored.

But I made it on the plane. And get a middle seat, which is where I’m writing this from. Right now. To my right is a lovely young lady who is sound asleep. I hope she doesn’t wake up and see this. But my biggest problem is to my left. I’m sitting here, chilling to Jan Hammer, and this dude nudges me and asks me to stop fidgeting, because he wants to sleep.

Keep in mind, I haven’t moved a muscle.

The nice young lady next to me makes a face as if to say ,”What the fuck is HIS problem?”

He’s snoring loudly now. I don’t care because I have my headphones on.

I hope he never wakes up.