On Flying

Breezy enjoying some beach time


"Hi Auntie B!"










Last week I had to make a trip to Lexington for a dental appointment so I had to choose between flying from Orlando into Bluegrass Airport or driving from Vero Beach to Lexington and back. Believe it or not it was a hard choice, for a few reasons, but mostly because I hate to fly. I'm not afraid to fly. I just hate it with a purple passion. And I love to drive. I find driving trips to be relaxing and therapeutic. I think well when I'm kicked back and covering the pavement at 70 MPH (okay...maybe 80 MPH). All I can think about when I fly is how much I hate flying.


My Dad is a driver. He raced dragsters in the 1950's (just before I came to be) and set a national record in his class on the Salt Flats at Bonneville. He has always owned nice cars and has spent many hours on the road in his nearly 80 years on the planet including driving a 1966 Jaguar XKE from Portland, Oregon to Key West, Florida and back with a friend of his. Imagine the Interstates back then...fun! My love of cars and driving comes from him. He also learned to fly but my hatred of flying has nothing to do with genetics. It has to do with the airlines.


So after deciding that I didn't want to be separated from my husband, dog and the warm Florida sunshine for four or five days I reluctantly booked a flight to Lexington. Because the Orlando airport is nearly two hours from Vero Beach we got up in the middle of the night and John and Breezy escorted me to Orlando. The flight was scheduled to take off at 8:40 AM and arrive in Lexington at 12:30 PM with a one hour layover in Charlotte. John dropped me curbside and we said our goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows and Breezy gave me dog hugs and kisses and away I went.


I only took a light overnight bag so there was no need to check anything and I printed my boarding pass at home, making sure that they were cut appropriately on the dotted line and that I had at my fingertips the airline's copy and not the customer's copy. God forbid that I make a mistake and hold up the line...a fate worse than death at the airport. I made sure that I bagged my little three ounce or under liquids in a QUART plastic CLEAR ziplock bag (no bigger, no smaller) and situated them on top of my bag for ease of retrieval in the security line and that I left anything that remotely looked like a sharp object at home. I proceeded directly to security stopping only to double check my gate number and dig my driver's license out of my wallet.


I have an unnatural fear of losing my driver's license in this process probably because I dropped it one time in an airport. Thankfully a nice lady picked it up and ran me down...literally had to run me down because I was hurrying to catch a flight due to the fact that the flight that I came in on was late, due to the fact that another flight was late...you've been there I'm sure. Anyway, I gathered up all of the needed documentation and headed for the security line with my little bag and my purse. When I got there I was disheartened to find one of those rat mazes set up and it was overflowing with impatient travelers. It was Friday before a three day weekend so there were mostly vacationers (ugh) and a few business travelers. As I entered the maze I heard a voice holler, "Hey! You can't do that! GO BACK!". I froze. I thought that I had done something wrong already. I looked around to see jerk trying to get to the head of the line by ducking under the rat-maze baracades. Some people have no shame.


The maze was set up so that you entered on one end and made no less than five turns before the group separated into three distinct lines where three TSA agents were checking boarding passes and IDs. Murphy accompanied me on this trip (thought I left him in the overhead cabinet in the coach) directing me into the slowest line. I watched as the other two lines filtered through and my line stood stationary. That was when I had a revelation; the people of the world are getting bigger. I don't mean heavier but taller. I used to be average sized for a woman. Okay...maybe a little shorter than average but close. I think the average when I was growing up was 5 feet 5 inches. I'm 5 feet 3 inches...almost. I was totally surrounded by people who are at least 5 feet 8 inches and taller. Way taller. Now I know how the Munchkins felt. I found myself being eternally grateful for the custom of daily showers and widespread use of deoderants being as my nose is about armpit height on the average person. For some unknown reason my sense of smell seems heightened in the last couple of years and I can't figure out why. When we were in South Africa and we enountered a pack of Wild Dogs and I was nearly reduced to vomiting over the side of the Land Rover at their stench. I'll spare you the details as to why they stink to high heaven...not a pretty story. If you must know, Google it.


I'm reminded here of an incident that happened in Vero Beach a few years back. John and I were crossing the 17th Street bridge in the car. We got to the base of the bridge on the west side and were stopped by a traffic light. We were listening to music and tapping our toes when all of the sudden the car filled with the stench of human...stink...like...flatulence. I glanced his way and then looked out the window resisting the urge to lower it and air out the car for fear that I would offend him. I then wondered what on earth he ate that caused such an...event. Thankfully the light changed and we moved on smiling politely at each other and as we moved the smell left the vehicle. Several months later we were stopped in the same spot under the same conditions and it happened again! Finally it occurred to me that the smell might be coming from outside of the car. I looked to the right and saw a small power plant and to the left was another plant of some sort. I said, "Do you smell that?". He got a little red faced and said yes. I immediately thought he thought that I thought he did it so I quickly speculated that it might be one of the plants that was emitting the sewer-like stench. He started to laugh. I asked what was funny and he recalled in great detail the last time that it happened and said that at the time he thought it was me but he didn't want to embarrass me by asking if I felt okay so he suffered in silence. He said he wondered if he could spend a lifetime dealing with the smells that I was capable of producing and then decided that it could be dealt with. We had a moment of hilarity. It happens a lot with us. And to this day when ever we pass that spot and it stinks we both crack up.


Back to the airport...


So I finally got my boarding pass and ID checked. Apparently the lines were out to Long Term Parking by then because they finally decided to open three more security check lines. A TSA agent elbowed through the throngs of travelers directing us at the top of her lungs to the newly opened check points which were divided by blue duct tape on the carpeting (another use for duct tape) saying "YOU, over HERE" as she points at you to move your ass and DAMN IT don't DALLY!


I was so surrounded by tall people that I felt like a sappling in an old growth forest, straining for daylight and to see how close I was to the security ex-ray machine. It's important to know how close you are because you have to begin loosening garments before you arrive at the stack of gray plastic tubs so that you don't stall the line. Since I've reached middle age and am in full possession of memory deficiency I tend to get a little hypertensive just prior to reaching the stack of gray tubs. Reminds me of when I was a kid and we did 100 yard dashes in track and field...ready, set, GO! Grab a bin, try to fit it on the table (with Murphy as a nearly constant companion the person in front of me is usually slowly proceeding through the drill and taking up the entire table, oblivious to the fact that there are 500 hypertensive people behind him or her waiting to dash through the process), put your purse/laptop if you have one/wallet/keys/change/watch, and plastic ziplock bag in the bin, jerk your shoes off, strip off your coat/sweater, figure out what goes in the bin and what goes on the conveyor belt, double check to be sure that you haven't dropped you driver's license and that you have your boarding pass in hand. Run to the metal detector and STOP. Wait to be waved through the metal detector in your stocking feet. Once you get through without setting off the alarm and are not abducted on the other side for wanding and a pat down you proceed to the other side of the ex-ray machine and wait for your stuff to come out. Hypertension sets in again when you see it coming down the conveyor belt. Will they confiscate your purse (bag, laptop or briefcase) for a search or will you begin the high speed re-dressing routine in reverse...push the gray tub to the end of the metal rollers, jerk your shoes and coat/sweater out, replace your laptop (if you have one) in its case, grab your purse, bag or briefcase, watches, change, plastic ziplock bag and wallet haul it all down to the bench where you drop everything into a pile and put your shoes on, coat/sweater on and find your boarding pass. On this day I passed through security with two incidents. I left my boarding pass on the table and a nice man retrieved it for me (there are some nice people in airports) and the TSA gang decided they needed to look through my purse. I guess the comb with the metal spikes on the end was the culprit. Once they determined that I couldn't hijack a plane with it and I finished dressing and proceeded to the tram.


As I've gotten older I've begun to understand that some things which irritate me are shared experiences. Certain things are cultural. In the United States we are accsutomed to our personal space. I take that to an art form. I am so goofy about it that I can get downright hostile if someone voilates my personal space zone (defined for me as an area about two feet in any direction from my body, arms, legs, and head) except by accident. This was driven home to me as I waited for the tram. In Orlando, as in most airports, it is an multi-sectional train with several doors that allow for boarding and exiting. When I arrived I saw a herd of people all crammed up waiting for the door to open so that they could board into the first car. It struck me as strange at the time because there were three of us to occupy the rest of the tram which meant that if we so chose to we could each have our own private car. The door opened and I stepped on and the door closed and when I looked up through the glass partition at the first car it was wall to wall people. They were stacked in there like cord wood. I thought, "How ridculous is that." When the tram stopped we all exited and when I attempted to negotiate my way through the crowd that got off of the first car I had an "ah ha" moment. They were all Asian and I assumed that they must have been traveling together because of the smiling faces and happy toned conversation going on in the group. I remember a dear friend of mine who visited China several years ago telling me that the concept of personal space doesn't exist in China due to the sheer numbers of people who occupy the cities. Airlines, in their effort to keep bankruptcy at bay, have eliminated personal space as an option unless you can afford to book First Class tickets. If I were Asian this airline thing would work for me. I'm American and it doesn't.


The next step in the process is to get on the stupid airplane. Slight obsessive that I am I quadruple checked to be sure that I had the correct portion of my boarding pass to give to the ticket agent. God forbid that I clog up the line. I handed over the paper and headed for my seat. I managed to book aisle seats all the way through to Lexington and back. When I got to my row of seats it was empty. It was too good to be true that it would stay that way so I put my bag and purse under the seat, got my book and iPod out and waited. As I saw people coming down the aisle I looked at each one deciding if they would be okay to sit next to (don't laugh...I know you do this too). "Not good...acceptable...fine and oh please, please don't let it be that one..." went through my mind as each approached and passed. Finally I looked up and I knew...I knew this was my seating companion approaching. I knew it without a doubt because I was traveling with Murphy and Murphy always blesses me with a teething-age infant, either in front of me, behind me or next to me. Sure enough a nice young lady with a cute little girl excused herself and sat in the window seat with her daughter in her lap. I was about to sit down again when she said, "I would wait if I were you." She pointed and said, "That lady coming down the aisle is traveling with me." I looked up and saw a rotund lady with arm loads of child care equipment...bottles, diaper bags, blankets, pacifiers...the works. I groaned internally and waited while the procession of glowering passengers squeezed by me to get to their seats while the nanny situated her more than ample body and into the less than ample space and plopped down on top of her seat belt. I quickly slid into my seat allowing the log jam of passengers to continue on their way. The ensuing struggle for the nanny to get situated and the beating that I was taking from passing travelers and their luggage left me with a new appreciation of what it is like to be a cow in a cattle car. Okay, so I was stuck with this situation and just had to find a way to live with it. I stuffed my earphones deep into my ears, turned up the music to BLAST and grabed my book. The rest of the flight was observed as mouths moving, heads bobbing and bodies going to and from the lavatory to Joe Cocker, Eric Clapton and Heart. The iPod is the best invention since baked bread. As I glanced around me it occurred to me that as a population we talk too much. Everyone's mouths were moving. As I walked through the airports everyone, everywhere was yapping on phones or non-stop to each other. I wonder if human air expelled from the mouth as voice has something to do with global warming. They say that cow farts do. Hmmm...


Okay so I get to Charlotte and find that I'm booked on to one of those small jets that flies into Lexington. I like the little jets because they are fast. They board fast, get in the air fast, get on the ground fast and fly fast and it doesn't take a year to get off of the thing once you've reached your destination especially in Lexington which is my favorite airport in the world. It is small and quiet and easy to access. If you can catch a decent fare out of there it is the only way to go. Back to the trip. I do the quadruple check for the correct boarding pass and head out for the little jet on the tarmac. When I get to my seat I discover that I am sitting next to a young guy who is built like linebacker. He is not fat. He is HUGE. He is so HUGE that he is taking up three quarters of the space that is allotted for two seats. He is so HUGE that he can't get the armrest down in between us. I smile politely as I stuff myself into half of a seat. I watch as the plane fills to capacity. I know I'm in for an hour of being smashed. If we hit turbulence I will surely be squished to death. I struggle for my book, give up on the idea of the iPod and fly to Lexington. Once there and extracted from my seat it literally takes me ten minutes to get off of the plane and get a cab ride to my front door. I made it...a little worse for the wear but I was home. Tomorrow I get to do it all in reverse. And the trip to dentist looks like a walk in the park.


On Saturday morning I got up at 5:30, showered, drank some coffee and sorted out my boarding passes again. I made arrangements for my Friday cab driver to pick me up at 8:00. He was early so we chatted on our way over to the airport and found out that we knew people in common, another thing I love about Lexington. I bought two bottles of my favorite shampoo while I was in Lexington not thinking until it was too late that I couldn't take all of that liquid through security so I checked the little bag and whizzed through security (I thought I might have ditched Murphy at the dentist office) and boarded a lightly populated flight to Charlotte. I had two seats to myself (unheard of) and had a quiet and pleasant flight in the little jet. Once I stepped into the terminal in Charlotte I knew that Murphy had just been napping in my purse. It looked like an ant hill. Suddenly I wondered if I had taken the wrong flight and ended up in Chicago. It was mayhem. I fell in with the flow of bodies heading for terminal C. I battle my way from terminal E to terminal C...about ten miles. I find one chair far away from my gate and plop down looking around at all of the people. Big ones, little ones, young ones, old ones, dark ones, light ones, skinny ones, fat ones, every type of human being imaginable. And where were they all going?


ORLANDO.


They called our flight to board. I was in zone 7. That's another thing that I don't get...the zone thing. When I am in zone 1 in the back of the plane they load from the front to the back. When I am in zone 7 in the front of the plane they load from the back to the front. I guess it is that pesky Murphy again. So I load in the last 100 or so people and when I get to my seat someone is sitting in it. That irritates me no end. I had to dig out my seating assignment from my purse and show it to this kid, about 17 and smirky. He grunts and moves over to the center seat and I slide into my coveted aisle seat.


A minute later along came an unremarkable looking man with a remarkable smell. The Wild Dogs in Africa didn't have anything on this guy. The line of people stalled out just as this guy got next to my seat, undoubtedly due to some jerk trying to fit an elephant sized carry on in an already over stuffed overhead bin down the line. I tried to draw a breath but every time I did I had to halt the intake of air for fear that I would deposit my breakfast on his shoes. Finally I covered my nose with my hand and dabbed at my watering eyes. It was HORRIBLE. No, HORRIBLE really doesn't cover it. It was DISGUSTING. He smelled something like rancid cooking oil mixed with skunk. That's close. Finally the line moved and I breathed before passing out.

My seat was in row 5 just two rows back from first class. I thought this would be good. It wasn't. People in the rows head of me and in first class had very unhappy children. Fussing, screaming, crying, wiggling, whining, little human beings. I have a theory that an airline needs to be created to accomodate people who fly with small children...not to accommodate me so much (well maybe that too) but to accommodate them. Kids have a hard time being confined to a small space. Hell I have a hard time being confined to a small space! If they would create Mickey Mouse Airlines (Hooters did this for perverts, why not an airline that caters to kids) the world would be a happier place.

Okay, so I'm sitting there thinking that aisle seat row 5 might not have been the best spot on the plane when a large bottomed woman (I'm being polite) drags a carry on rolling bag that is too heavy for her to handle next to my seat and begins to struggle to put it in the overhead bin on the opposite side of the aisle. I would have offered to help her but every time I tried to stand up she bent over and smothered me with her fat ass...ooops....large bottom and knocked me back into my seat. Finally after being assaulted by this woman's butt a dozen times I was losing my cool. To make matters worse her mouth was running a mile a minute and she sounded like my Aunt Jessie who was a sweet person but had the voice from hell...shrill and loud and talked non-stop. By this time I've had enough "togetherness" with the general public and I'm getting ready to tell this woman to get her fat ass out of my face when the flight attendant comes up and assists her with her bag...just in the nick of time. Then she asks if the three of us in row 5, who are sitting next to each other looking like Siamese triplets, are traveling together. I start to laugh. I realize that we must have looked like a cozy unit of friendly passengers but the truth was that we didn't know each other from Adam and wanted only to survive the flight so we could un-stick from each other and get on with our lives. We all shake our heads no. She said, "Would you be willing to give up your seats so that I can move children out of the exit rows?" I didn't even think about it. "YES!" I said and the three of us piled out of the seats in row 5 falling over each other to get to the exit rows. There were three seats available after the kids were moved forward, two on the aisle and one center seat. The crafty smirky guy immediately plopped into an aisle seat. The tall guy, who started this flight with a window seat, and me who started the flight with an aisle seat eye each other carefully and then glance at the one remaining aisle seat. While I'm debating with myself as to whether I will duke it out with this guy for the seat or give it up the flight attendant interceded and asked him politely to take the center seat. How could he refuse? I fell into the aisle seat and flew to Orlando.

Once I arrived in Orlando I found that the inmates had taken over the asylum. It was a ZOO. I battled my way down to the baggage claim turnstile and stood there for a half hour waiting for my little bag. Once I got it I decided that waiting outside with the smokers was preferable to waiting inside. I called John and he found his way from the cell phone waiting area to the passenger pick up and gathered up his airline-weary wife with her bag of shampoo and he and Breezy took me to a peaceful and quiet home.

In two days we fly again...out of Orlando. Putting less than a week between flights is just a little insane but we have a wonderful trip coming up and this time John and I are traveling together which is great! I'll write when we get back and let you know how it went.

PS. Thanks for all of the nice comments and emails about this blog. It is fun to share our experiences with you and we love hearing from you!