Further Misadventures in flight. A remix.
Sunday, February 7, 2010 at 06:38PM
I'm convinced that Lindbergh had an easier flight to Paris on the Spirit of St. Louis. There I was waiting patiently at the gate. In my grubby hands, I hold a ticket that practically shouts "get on board" before the other rabble.
A woman picks up a microphone and begins the drill. "We'll begin with the boarding process. We'll start with anyone traveling with children or people who need extra help getting down the jet way please come to the podium.
Okay, I applaud that.
She continued, "now our 1st Class Passengers, Gold and Premier Club members."
Sure. I get that.
And then it was "anyone with am AARP, a CVS discount card, anyone who's had a colonoscopy in the past six months, or who has seen the movie Avatar.
The entire flight pre boarded. There I was, the sole remaining passenger in line. Zone 1? How about the Twilight Zone?
I am not a timid flyer. But the plane I took on the first leg of my trip to Florida was so old, a cadre of scrap metal dealers were appraising it as we were fueling for the trip. I lovingly named the plane the Buddy Holly. It was one of those planes that has two seats on one side of the plane and one on the other. Simple physics tells me that it's a flying teeter totter.
Lesson #1. The smaller the plane, the longer the pilot talks. Our pilot must have set a new record of sharing way too much information. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking and behalf of the flight crew I want to say thanks for flying with us today. Frankly, I should have retired years ago but some &%#@ executives cut my pension so I'll have to fly this steel bucket till I keel over. Now I'll tell you some incomprehensible flight lingo that will scare you half to death. P.S. If anyone is considering laser surgery, don't go to cheap, I did and things are bit blurry from where I sit. Now just sit back and enjoy the flight."
Lesson 2. The airline wars now have civilian casualties. If you want a meal or a mixed drink, you have to pony up big bucks. On my flight, even the pilot had to pay for his Bloody Mary.
Lesson 3. The man next to me always looks like he's carrying the Ebola virus. He's sneezing, coughing and has a vicous liquid cascading from ever pore. He even has an IV drip hanging from the overhead cabin and he says, "don't worry, it's just allergies." Well, 24 hour later I got the same allergy, I think it's called the flu. Allergy is the new buzz word for saying, Intensive Care is a just a day away.
Lesson 4. The Sky Mall Magazine. At some point in the flight, you are going to be so bored, you are going to open this rag and discover that you have needs you didn't know you had. Like a machine that makes hotdogs and cotton candy at the same time. Or a cat box disguised as an armoire. Three pages of Sky Mall and your entire life seems empty, If only I had that motivation poster with the rowers that visually imprinted the concept of TEAMWORK, I might have made something of myself. I think I saw a ripped up copy of it in the cockpit.
Lesson 5. The airline also has a magazine. My problem with these magazines is that there's always an ad for the world's best steak houses -- none of which are within 1,000 miles of where I live or where I'm going, I've had steak envy for over twenty years.
Lesson 6. The wonderful buckle-up demonstration. Maybe it's me but the seatbelt has been out oh, for at least 50 years. Is this a concept so difficult, that we need a bad performance by a cloyingly bored stewardess or steward? There are tribes in the rain forest that understand push and click. They're not telling us that we need to bend our knees when we sit? What's the statute of limitations on this one?
Well, we did land safely for our connecting flight which was on concourse "C" -- forty miles away from our gate. But well worth, the marathon run and the subsequent defibrillation and life-saving injection of airport-priced Starkbucks. The good news is that my cat amiore should be arriving next week.
Happy flying







