Staying Put
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who enjoy traveling and those who don’t. I’m not ashamed to admit that I am not from the travelers. Nope, I’m very comfortable in the confines of my humble abode, enjoying my complete lack of adventurousness.
Here’s what I have observed when I do have to venture out. First, there’s the packing. For a three-day trip, do you prepare for every possible weather occurrence? What if it rains, or snows, or a tornado is forecast? You have to be ready, right? So now you have four very heavy suitcases, just in case.
Next, it’s off to the airport, which is an adventure in itself. You leave early, so you can arrive two hours before your flight. You check your bags and are surprised that the baggage fees cost more than the actual ticket for your flight. Maybe next time it will be cheaper to sit in the cargo area of the plane with your precious luggage.
After you get through the check-in and you watch as they toss your expensive suitcases all around, it’s time to get through security. First, you go through the scanner (which causes cancer, by the way) and have your goodies exposed for all of those TSA strangers to see. You then have to repeat your name, rank and serial number about a half dozen times. You’ve got to explain where you’re going, why you’re going and that you don’t have any explosives hidden in your eyebrows.
So, what’s next? You finally are admitted to the waiting area and get to join the great unwashed, sitting for hours on the most uncomfortable chairs known to man. Why? Because your flight has been delayed, as the plane is still sitting in Albuquerque. Naturally. And once you finally get on the plane, it’s just your luck that your seatmate is some smelly 350-pound guy who coughs all over you during the entire flight.
Of course, once you land, your luggage is missing, and when you finally get to the hotel (with only your carry-on backpack), they can’t find your reservation. Sure, they eventually house you in a luxurious, special, choice spot in the basement, next to the boiler room. What’s not to like?
And I haven’t even gotten to the bedbugs yet, as the travel horror list goes on and on. A big NO THANKS for me. I’ll stay home and let everybody else tell me all about their wonderful, trauma-filled escapades.
Ironically, my son the Webmaster loves to travel (he must have gotten that from his mother). You can quickly relive his 2,800-mile trip across the country below.
Tagged as: Airports • Travel • Waiting