Waiting

Some people hate the TSA.  I personally think they do a pretty good job and have only one complaint, Why?  Why do I have to get to the airport so dang early?  TSA suggests you be at the airport 2 hours prior to your flight.  This is so if everything goes wrong and you get stopped or delayed at every possible checkpoint, you can still make your flight.   But what about the 5 out of 6 times when everything goes perfectly, or close to it?  That’s my problem not theirs.

Last week, I was leaving Ontario, California.  I left the hotel a couple of minutes late.  Then the GPS would not accept the address to the car rental location.  Okay, I can do this.

Once I calmed down and started moving, and thanks in a great part to some well-placed signage, I made it in just a few minutes.  At the car drop off, I got directions to the airport shuttle and, less than 8 minutes later, I was walking through the terminal, looking for some place to kill almost two full hours.  But that was my problem, not theirs.

I survived and got some important work done but couldn’t help thinking about how I could still be laying in my comfortable hotel bed, sleeping.  Again, my problem.

When I was younger, and there was no TSA and you kept your shoes and belt on when you passed through security, I would get to the airport 30 minutes or less before the departure time.  Never once did I miss a flight (though one time I did cause a friend to miss a flight).

I’m not as young and carefree as I was then.  When the TSA says 2 hours, I do what they say.  For now I’m obeying this rule and spending some time sitting, and working, and writing, and thinking in air terminals.   It’s not a terrible problem.

First Class

Last week I flew to Chicago in style; Non-stop and first class all the way, baby.  I was living large with the heavy hitters on the front of the plane; Full meal service, hot towel to clean my soiled hands, and, best of all, leg room, ah, leg room. 

This week I’m riding in the cargo hold with the rest of humanity.

I haven’t flown with this particular airline since Nancy and I were just married.  I remember showing her how to use her elbows, like Carl Malone used to, by holding them out to the sides and roll-jabbing them slowly but decidedly from side to side.  

I can see already, sitting here in the terminal, that flying with this airline is still not going to work for me.  I know I’m hard to please, but this seems ridiculous; Hundreds of people crammed at the furthest end of the airport terminal, waiting to stand in line - by their assigned number - so they can be crammed into a full airplane.     

Contrast this with leaving Chicago’s O’Hare Airport on Friday afternoon where, with a priority seating pass, I was the first person on and off of the plane.  Not that this is normal for me; normally I don’t travel this much.  And when I do, I usually drive.  But, this time I got lucky and found a little trick that allowed me, for a mere $5 per ticket, to upgrade from cabin class to first class.  I had no idea I had stumbled onto such an amazing find until I was sitting on the plane.  Oh, it was glorious.  And, sadly, I fear, for the rest of my life, it will make flying any other way a sad and sorry, counterfeit, experience.  Now I know better.  This isn’t always a good thing.