Flying, Nothing but Flying
We flew down to San Jose the other night, into one of the world's most quaint airports. It seems that I'm flying places on a semi-regular basis anymore, with me doing the Northern California trip in another week for a Summit. I don't mind flying as much as I used to. I think we have frequent flyer miles stacked away somewhere? If I ever get stuck on another kid-laden flight, however, I'll kick the mother holding onto the kicking kid. I tried my best to ignore it, but there's only so many times you can read the barf bag before you've memorized it – and the bruise on my left leg makes me think I've turned into a banana. At least there wasn't any turbulence, and the flight was short (a little under two hours). It could've been worse, I suppose – the flight could've been diverted or turned around? Passenging is so much fun.
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3 Comments
:: jozjozjoz.com ::
August 12th, 2005
at 1:57pm
Don't you have earphones/MP3 player or something to turn up?
sara
August 12th, 2005
at 3:56pm
My thoughts exactly! How can a geek get on a plane without having enough toys to occupy him through the flight?
Fogarty
August 12th, 2005
at 4:59pm
Imagine being stuck on a cross-country Greyhound bus for three days (one of them being your birthday) circa 1991 with $15 in your pocket (to sort of cover food, even though the crappy sort provided in bus terminals is expensive enough to stretch that cash into about one very bad half-meal a day).
The lazy-eyed hayseeds and their drooling, kicking progeny seem to rotate from city to city, but they're ever-present. The worst is the young adult sitting next to you, though. He got on the bus in the middle of the night in Winnemucca, Nevada and won't be getting off 'til Salt Lake City. He's 18 and very upset that the driver confiscated the six-pack of Coors he had hanging out of his backpack in plain view. The mustachioed drunkard sipping generously from his flask of cheap bourbon in the back smiles and winks knowingly in a “glad he sat next to you” sort of way. The young adult (and you know he's an adult because he keeps reminding you during the never-ending tirades against his bitchy stepmom and how he's 18 and doesn't have to listen to anybody if he doesn't want to) doesn't take the hint that you're ignoring him until you're successful in drifting off to sleep, only to wake up to his napping noggin on your shoulder a few hours later, his alcohol-scented drool soaking your shirt in a pattern that could be the ugliest Rorschach test you've ever seen (and, considering the therapy you'll seek after this bus ride, you'll see plenty more).
Then again, pioneers who crossed the continent in covered wagons over months of hardship (and maybe even cannibalism!) would probably be very ticked off that us modernites are now able to do the same thing in a few scant days — or even hours, given our new-fangled aeroplanes! And immigrants who survived even longer voyages across the sea in coffin ships, well, they'd slap us silly for complaining about how easy we've got it now!
I'm just thankful that I've never had to eat weevils in hard tack…