Breakfast in Boston
Lunch in London
Luggage in Lima
“My Mother was a travel agent for guilt trips”
Flying does not make me happy.
It’s uncomfortable, time consuming and stressful. Add to that the probability of claustrophobia, over-salted, reheated food, and mid-air washroom trips, and it’s a wonder anyone flies! In my opinion, the convenience of arriving at your desired locale in mere hours is marred, to a large extent, by the discomfort one has to endure to get there.
Unsavory as this predicament is, it has yet another drawback: luggage allowance. Not only do I have to squeeze and prod my belongings into two, fifty-pound cases, I’ll then have to wait 8 hours to find out whether they will, in fact, arrive at my final destination.
I’ll sit, legs dangling from my economy class seat, face pressed against the small cabin window, trying to catch a glimpse of my suitcases rolling along the belt, into the aircraft. Ah yes, it’s just another advantage to that mode of transportation that I loathe so much.
When I finally get home, cramped and anxiety ridden, I’ll face yet another obstacle. You see, the final setback happens when the pomp and circumstance of the airborne journey concludes.
The time when, months after leaving home, moments after surviving air travel, and minutes after the eager hugs and animated welcomes have ended, I will face an even greater challenge. A time when my heart rate will rise, and the lightheadedness previously experienced in flight, will return to me.
Yes, the icing on my proverbial in-flight cake will be far worse than anything the TSA can throw at me.
For after braving the crowds, germs, discomfort, inconvenience and nausea that is flying, I’ll face an even greater nuisance. A problem the likes of which a confined, over air-conditioned, movie-less flight can’t begin to touch.
The very definition, epitome even, of inconvenience…
Maybe flying does equal happiness.
It begins at the departure gate.