Air Travel

I was flying home from Portland yesterday (and boy are my arms tired, sorry, I couldn't resist), sitting next to a man who didn't think the rules applied to him. He didn't turn off his cell phone when they told him to, he didn't put up his tray table when the announcement said to. If you've been following my blog, you won't be surprised that I turned to the man and said, "I bet your mama told you that your were special, didn't she?" Well, I really didn't say that, but it got me thinking about some of my pet peeves I haven't shared before; those involving flying.

Earlier in the week, I was up in Montana for a meeting. I really enjoy Montana especially in summer. Whenever I go to Helena (pronounced hel-uh-nuh, not huh-lay-nuh) I always look for that handbasket store I have heard about all my life. No one in the town seems to know about it even though for years I have heard about things going to Helena Handbasket....get it? Hel-in...?Yeah, the people there didn't laugh about it either.

Security is the first place where I get frustrated. I have traveled enough over the years that I think I know the routine; computer out of its bag, shoes off revealing my holy socks, take all metal off, etc. But quite often, the security personnel are taking their jobs waaaaaay too seriously. Just a few weeks ago, in the Honolulu airport, a TSA agent made me go back through the metal detector four different times. Each time I would take a few more things off my person. Finally, out of frustration, I asked her, "have you got a hospital gown for me? If you do, I'll just strip down." This obviously didn't set well with her. I was very luck that this Barney Fife wannabee didn't have a gun or I would've been lying in a pool of my own blood as businessmen and women stepped over me on their way to their flights. She just yelled a little louder and eventually took it out on Bluesmom too, telling her, "stand on the mat, that's what it's for". Even though Bluesmom was just inches away to start with.

I also get frustrated with passengers and cell phones on planes. Invariably on a flight, you'll get someone calling while still on the plane after landing, who things she's talking through a tin can with a string. She'll be yelling into the device loud enough for the rest of the plane to hear and always includes the phrase, "I'm on the plane", like it's a new ability that wasn't available back in Podunk, West Virginia.

Crying babies on planes actually don't bother me. I know they can't help it and they don't understand whats happening. What bothers me are the people around the child who are all put out. What do they expect, that the flight attendant is going to pull out a syringe of horse tranquilizer and put the little one into dreamland. Put up with it folks, I put up with your annoying phone calls and idle conversation about how terrible airlines are.

Although I could go on, talking about flight attendants and their lack of customer service, or airlines overbooking, or being so bored that you re actually like an excited little puppy wagging its tale when the peanuts come around, but I won't. Instead, I'll go back to trying to do a google search for Helena Handbaskets, get it Hel-in-a...oh, never mind.