Air travel is one of the worst types of inhumane punishment. Let me count the ways
The Drop Off – Rolling out of the passenger seat of your car at 3 MPH as your husband chucks your suitcase after you through the sun roof.
The Kiosk – Waiting in line to be given the option of checking your itinerary and printing your boarding pass using any of five methods you can’t seem to remember.
ID Check – Holding your breathe and waiting for the crabby man behind the counter to tell you that you are on the FBI’s most wanted list and will not be allowed to travel and letting it out with relief when he lets you pass.
Security – The pressure of seeing how fast you can rip off your knife-tipped shoes, studded belt, jacket and jewelry and then pull out all your personal bomb making liquids disguised in your toiletry bottles, take out your secret spy intelligence smuggling laptop and race through the radar arch just to be patted down by a woman named Helen looking for coke in your small intestine and returning to gather your belongings before they are run over by the next persons stuff.
Loading – Waiting for your special, privileged “Zone” to be called so you can muscle your way past the women and children to get a spot for your own oversized carry-on.
The Middle Seat – Trapped. The sensation of having to pee is prevalent from the moment you sit down until you are off the plane.
The Window Seat – Even more trapped and an even more excessive peeing sensation coupled with a gas bubble.
The Smoker – Sitting next to someone who just inhaled a chimney to prepare for his 4 hours of withdrawal and having your clothes smell like him for the rest of the day. You have to turn on your overhead air even though you are freezing just to get some oxygen.
Infant in Arms – Do I really need to say anything about this one?
The Bathroom – Anyone who ever bragged about the mile high club is a damn liar.
The Beverage Service – A nasty cookie and a shot of pop. I want to barf on the man next to me and eat his young by the time we land. I think I’m allergic to it. What’s worse is the person next to you who packs their own homemade “snack” of nasty stinky cheese and warm bologna.
The Announcements – Shut up, shut up, shut up!!! You aren’t funny, no one cares about the winds out of the north and if you thank me one more time for flying with you I am going to wrap that cord around your neck and choke you.
The Landing – Cell phones out everyone, on the count of three. “We just landed” “We just landed” “Hey, Bob, we just landed.” Everyone, in case you haven’t noticed you are still trapped in an enclosed space with 250 tired and irritable people. Save it for the terminal.
The Hurry Up and Wait – As soon as the seat belt light goes off let’s jump into the aisle and grab all of our belongings and make everyone claustrophobic for 20 minutes while we wait for the door to open.
The Pick Up – You can’t get out front and into the car fast enough. Your ears are still ringing from the noise of the plane and it takes about five miles before your heart rate has returned to normal.
I feel so violated when the day is done and I want to bleach myself inside and out.
Maybe it’s just me?
I like to pass the time by playing LOST.
I look around the plane and try to pick out Sawyer, Jack, Siyed, John Locke, Hurley the Korean guy. I’m Kate of course, I’m always Kate. Anyone who might be competition dies in the crash. It’s very sad.