Crazy Flying

As if there weren't enough things to whine about, I REALLY hate airline travel. Just so you know, my dislike of airplanes has evolved over the years from a simple terror of being unnaturally above the earth to the more innocuous loathing of the bureaucratic ordeal involved in getting on a plane. On yesterday's journey, I had the opportunity to revisit both.

First, the security checkpoint at Fort Lauderdale at 5 am was the biggest mess I've ever seen. Hundreds, literally hundreds of travelers were funnelled into two lines, which were then screened by one TSA employee, checking everyone's boarding pass and photo ID. From there, 8 lines of baggage checkers and 4 walk-through gates were in a complete, dead stop. There were bins and shoes and laptops and jackets and quart ziplock bags with gels and liquids all over the place. TSA guards were yelling at everyone in that annoying school-principal voice, admonishing us that until we followed the rules, no one was going anywhere, and it was just too bad if you missed your plane. Puffed with authority, bloated with self-importance, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, walking away even if questioned politely, the TSA earned a big, fat "F" in people skills. Roped into columns that were not moving at all, the crowd's mood was surly--and the TSA responded by acting like brown-shirts in a police state.

I was directed by the Commandant into a line of people needing "extra screening," despite the fact that the markings on my boarding pass clearly showed that I should be in Line 4. But no one in charge would even look at my pass or listen to my courteous assertion that I didn't belong in the line that I was in. Thirty minutes later (tick-tick-tick, clock is ticking), I was finally escorted to a chair to remove my ziplock and shoes, and once I walked through the metal detector, 10 minutes later, the guard in charge of that station said "Hey, this one's not supposed to be in this line." Thank you so very much. Told you. [Under-breath deleted expletive].

So why do y'all have to be so unpleasant, and why do we have to be all submissive and meek, lest we irk the authorities and make it even worse for ourselves? It is a classic power-trip, where the people in charge hold the threat of force over ordinary folks, and revel in that power for its own sake. They wield that power, because they can. Not good.

I now had 7 minutes before take-off to find my gate (changed, of course, thanks again). Breathless, I made it onto the jetway, as they shut the door behind me. Whew. I figured that finally, the worst was over. Wrong.

On final approach to Atlanta, I was watching the seat-back screen showing our descent, and when we got to about 1200 feet, the pilot suddenly gunned the throttle and threw the plane into a steep banking climb, whooshing out of there like pants on fire. With a father and brother who are pilots, I knew this was NOT NORMAL in the extreme. Sure enough, 10 minutes later, the pilot came on speaker to inform us that we were "going around again," because there was "traffic in the way!" So you see, I was justified in my visceral fright about flight.

On the second approach, the pilot apparently decided that come hell or high water, he was going to drive that puppy into the ground. We caromed down onto the tarmac, bouncing from one wheel to the other, rolling with wings see-sawing from side to side. It took FIVE big slams before he actually got both sets of wheels on the deck simultaneously. Yes, I was wrung out like a dishrag by the time we were finally taxiing to the gate.

Then, we stood in the aisles for an eon or two. People behind me were pushing forward, yelling "excuse me, excuse me, we have to catch our connection!" and I quietly informed the woman behind me that "we ALL have connections we have to catch, Ma'am, and pushing past me is not going to get you there any faster--just relax."

Our go-around had cost me my 30 minutes of layover time, so once again, I was running through an airport, searching for my gate two concourses over. I caught the underground train, staggered up the stairs and zipped through the door, with two whole minutes to spare. "Holy cow," I thought. "Why is this so danged hard?"

I think you have to put yourself in some sort of Zen-like state in order to fly these days. Because I do it so infrequently, every part of airline travel annoys me. Behaving like submissive cattle, being run through a security chute. Acquiescing to the pseudo-power of inefficient morons, in order to get to my goal--a seat on an actual plane. Placing my life in the hands of a pilot I'll never see. Praying, as we bounce wildly down a runway. Being shoved around in the aisle, because some other passenger thinks her agenda trumps mine. Running, always running, with the adrenaline rush of needing to get somewhere in time to get on still another plane.

People who travel frequently by plane shrug their shoulders at all of these annoyances. But I still think, it shouldn't be this difficult. I remember when flying was fun (and cheap)! I could catch a midnight flight to San Francisco for the weekend for $26 round-trip, just by showing up at 11:45. I remember when you could give your friend your ticket, if you couldn't make a flight. Or sell it, no problem. Those days are over, and all I'm left with is a set of "back in the good-old days" old-fart memories; which I revisit, everytime I have to fly with the now-days rules.

Yes, driving takes way too much time and it seems like I'm always buying tires. But at least I don't have to put up with Nazi-like robots, fighter-pilot shenanigans, and rude fellow travelers. I'll take the highway, anyday, over another plane trip.