Some of the Things I Hate about Air Travel Part I

The first thing I hate about air travel is the lead-up to getting on the plane. If ever there was a process designed to make the average traveler feel helpless, slightly disoriented, and edgy (what a combination!) it is the gamut of not-really-secure security checks that she must go through just to get to the departure lounge.

And next there is the lounge itself, which isn’t really conducive to lounging. The only lounge that looks like a departure lounge is, well, a departure lounge. Generally hideously decorated, furnished from the Uncomfortable Furniture Hut, the chairs are designed to batter the average traveler into submission. The magazines and paperback novels are overpriced and the food and snacks are too expensive. The bottled water is good. That’s all I can say.

And then there is the airplane.  A heavier-than-air tube that flies, defying gravity and common sense.  If you have a good flight, you won't get bounced around too much. The seats are uncomfortable, the washrooms are too tiny for words.  You never know who will be sitting behind you or in front of you or beside you, or who will talk all night long.  On the way to England, Linda and I have selected seats in the part of the plane where the seats are only two abreast, so we won't have a seat mate for that leg of the trip.  The food is a bit of a joke, and the coffee and tea are not so great.

Finally, once the plane has landed you must deal with the people who leap up the very second the seat belt light goes off, to start rummaging around in the overhead bins for their stuff, only to stand there and jam up the aisles so that no one else can get their stuff.  Following that there is the cattle-like slow walk in a line of weary travelers, through customs, and on to the luggage carousel.  If you have been delayed too long in customs, you can find that your luggage has been ignominiously dumped to the side of the room to make way for the next plane-load of suitcases, where it will sit, forlorn and lonely, possibly prey to the kind of people who make off with other people's luggage, until you arrive to claim it.