Friday, March 4, 2011

Have a Nice Trip Y'all

Back from vacation in Savannah-Charleston. It was a great trip and I'll be writing more about those lovely cities in future posts. Today's blog is about flying...something we do only reluctantly. We flew Continental to Savannah, and as we boarded the plane at Newark, I noticed that some people had on their "flying" clothes. Now I can see being comfortable, after all it is a cramped space, but the outfits some folks wear on airplanes are truly horrifying. Pajama bottoms and sweats that look like they Simonized their cars with them are a big favorite. Also, t-shirts with "funny" sayings are popular, such as Look Everyone Makes Mistakes, Take Your Parents For Example. Finally, there are the hats that just scream: look at me, I'm an asshole.

So we board with these pinheads after going through the endless security checks. We taxi out to the runway only to hear the intercom crackle and the laconic pilot's voice (they all sound the same) come on with the following announcement: Folks, we're waiting a while to take off...some of the pilots have been reporting wind shear problems. Really? Two words you don't want to hear sitting on the runway are "wind shear". On the list of airplane emergencies, wind shear ranks second, with only exploding fireball ahead of it. Then we hear: We should be taking off shortly. In airline speak that means sometime in the next 90 minutes. Once airborne, we now hear the phrase "a little turbulence"... translation...two minutes of wide-eyed, clenched-jawed terror.

During the flight the perky flight attendant (they used to be called stewardesses when they were attractive and polite) says we may move about the cabin. No can do. I'm wedged in the window seat and my lovely wife is giving me that you better not have to go to the bathroom look. I sip my little glass of juice (forget meals now days) fully aware that the liquid will soon be wanting to exit my body at the worst possible moment when the beverage cart is between me and the minuscule bathroom. I've heard of the mile high club, but I'm sure it's a myth. I can barely stay on my feet long enough to take a whiz much less muster up any acrobatic romantic maneuvers.

We land in Savannah and head for the baggage carousel. They make this sound like a fun amusement park ride, but it's hell on earth as 100 pieces of luggage that look exactly like mine come rolling down the line. Burly men knock down little old ladies when they see a bag they think is theirs. At least they check their bags, unlike the circus freaks that bring carry-on luggage the size of steamer trunks onto the plane and then stand there pounding it into the cramped overhead compartments. Oh, and while they do this, their nasty body parts are in your face since you are already seated. I'm going to bring a long hat pin on my next flight to shish kabob one of these thoughtless morons.

We drove down to Charleston from Savannah in a rental car that cost me $130 for four hours use. The flight home from Charleston was an interesting one. It was a beautiful day, so thankfully wind shear wasn't going to be a problem. As we taxied out for takeoff, Captain Laidback comes on the intercom and announces we are heading back to the terminal, no reason given. We arrive at the gate and two large, heavily armed Air Marshall's practically lift this guy out of his seat and forcibly take him off the airplane. He had been arguing with the flight attendant about moving his carry-on luggage to a safer place, and also gave the staff in the terminal some attitude prior to boarding. Some passengers heard him muttering threats and complained to the flight attendant. I hope they slapped his mouthy ass in jail.

More trip details to follow.


Children's Craniofacial Association

1 comment:

The Whiner said...

Dear God, I hate flying as well. You are right on all counts...get me a hatpin as well; having someone's armpit in your face as they try to shove their valise into 3x4 space is disgusting.