Want to play the best trick ever? Next time you’re at the airport, randomly start a line and watch as a dozen or so folks start making their way over to your fictional line. Another idea: start rumors about your flight. Tell someone you just overheard the desk agent tell her friend that there’s a better chance of catching a unicorn than this flight taking off tonight, and watch panic ensue. It’s quite hilarious. To me, anyway.
I know, I know … it’s mean. It’s proof that people, by and large, are gullible and looking for leadership. Especially at the airport, where no one seems to be in charge (well, except for the lady honking her horn at you while maneuvering her cart).
Anyone who’s traveled for business more than a few times knows the scoop on air travel. It sucks harder than a Shark vacuum cleaner. What used to be one of the coolest experiences (think: Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can) has turned into a Greyhound bus station. Sorry, Greyhound bus station. No offense.
Weirdly, my kids have the exact opposite view of the airport. Every time I take them on a trip, they’re mesmerized by the same stuff that makes me shake my head. The mere mention of the possibility of a flight being in their future is worth a week of good behavior. OK, decent behavior.
Planes are magical to little kids. For the rest of us … well, here’s a list for you to add to:
- Desk agents who look at you as if you committed treason when all you asked is if they could look for an aisle seat.
- Fellow passengers who start huddling up at the gate when they call for Group 1, although three-fourths of the folks in line are not in Group 1. We know what you’re doing, and we don’t think it’s very nice.
- The last 15 minutes of every flight. Deplaning. Absolutely the most frustrating moments of your life, watching people take their sweet time collecting all of their magazines, backpacks and suitcases, as well as adjusting their caps and pants before getting the heck out of your way.
- Landing early at DFW. So rarely a positive. Usually the next voice you hear is the pilot informing you that there’s another plane in our gate, so we’ll have to sit for a spell. And that’s followed by the previous line item. Nice, frustrating doubleheader.
- The battle for the overhead. They should give everyone those Hulk gloves so we can truly duke it out for space in the ever-crowded overhead.
- People on cell phones on the plane. Really? You’re not that important.
- Flying Spirit Airlines. Insert punch lines here.
- The lady sitting behind you who doesn’t realize that you’re sitting in front of her; because every time she goes to the bathroom, she grabs hold of your seat like it’s the front bar of a rollercoaster.
- The guy sitting in front of you who breaks what should be rewritten as the Golden Rule: thou shalt never recline thy seat. Yes, I realize they recline, but if we would all just agree to be on the same page here, it would be such a happier planet.
- Watching how parents of infants remind me of Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker. They know their infant is a ticking time bomb that no one can control, and when the crying starts, all 300 passengers will blame them. I’ve been there. I’ve actually changed the diaper of a screaming baby while lifting off from LAX. It was an amazing feat, perhaps my most athletic move ever. Earned me a high five from the flight attendant right before she commanded me to sit down and buckle up.
- One word: delayed.
- Another word: cancelled.
So, yeah, air travel isn’t all that fun, even though whenever I come home my son will want to know every detail.
“Who’d you sit next to?”
“Did you see any mountains?”
“Did you talk with the captain or get to see the cockpit?”
“How fast did you go and how high?”
Pretty interesting questions from the little guy. And honestly, they do give me pause before making fun of air travel. After all, we are sitting in a fairly nice chair going 500-plus mph while sipping on a gin and tonic. And although not every flight is perfect — actually none are — you’re able to wake up in DFW and have a face-to-face meeting in Chicago over lunch. So maybe I should simmer down and just learn to deal with the chaos for the miracle of flight . . .
Nah!
Rudy lives in Flower Mound, sells stuff to make the house payment, spends weekends on dusty ball fields and recently had a GPS chip attached to his daughter. Follow him on Twitter: Manifesto10.
