Airports, Airplanes, and Earplugs

Bear with the details here. But they are important. I flew to Atlanta last weekend. My flight was scheduled for 6:00 in the pm on Thursday. I left Baton Rouge at 3:00 and arrived in New Orleans at 4:30 (It is substantially cheaper to fly out of New Orleans). Now this may all seem like trivial information so far, and indeed it might be. But my great adventure begins here, here in the New Orleans airport at 4:30 waiting for my 6:00 flight. And so here I begin.

I took off my shoes, my belt, and emptied my pockets into one of those bins as I passed through the metal detectors and the security gates. I safely walked through without any alarms and I gathered my items on the other side. I put my wallet and cell phone back into my pockets, wrapped my belt around my waist, slid my shoes back on and I was interupted - "I'll take that." The security guard quickly snatched my keys that were still in the bin and began removing my tiny, dull Swiss Army knife from my key chain. He handed them back to me, I apologized in embarrassment, and gathered the rest of my stuff. I have forever lost my little knife. I used it for everything. I cut loose thread from shirts, I cleaned out my fingernails, I picked my teeth with it, etc. Perhaps for sanitary reasons it is best that I lost it.

Then the hour and a half wait. Sidenote: I am terrified of flying. Absolutely terrified. Every bump of even the slightest degree of turbulence sends my heart racing. So I decided to have a drink or two at the airport bar to calm my nerves. Jack and Coke = 6 dollars. This shot-sized plastic cup took me about three sips to get through. And of course, there was only about a teaspoon of Jack in it. Frustrated that it would not do the trick without blowing my entire budget, I returned to the little waiting area in terminal C 7, which was slowly being filled up with inconsiderate people who talk very loud on their cell phones.

And then our 6:00 flight was delayed to 7:00. And then our 7:00 flight was delayed to 8:00. And then our 8:00 flight was delayed to 8:45. And all I brought to read was the Letters of John Newton and The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. Two and a half hours in an airport terminal with 17th century literature is a long and hard eternity of torture. Don't get me wrong, I love older literature. But these two pieces aren't exactly "page turners."

So we finally board and I begin to realize that by the time I arrive in Atlanta, I could have just as easily driven the distance in about the same amount of time. From when I left Baton Rouge to when I arrived at my final destination was about 7 hours. It takes 8 to drive. So we board and of course I'm on a window seat next to a large man who has already claimed the armrest. The fight for the armrest was already lost. This means I am forced to read for the duration of the flight with my arms pressed up against my body like I am wrapped up in mummy linens. And I hate the window seat. But I also hate the middle and aisle seats. I simply hate flying.

And then we take off. And as I survey my fellow passengers, I realize how automatically suspicious I am of Middle Eastern men on board. Is this wrong? Probably.

The flight is only an hour. And by this point, I am well sick of reading 17th century-paragraph-length runon sentences. I decide to flip through the ever avaiable SkyMall Catelog in the little pocket in front of me. This is a great time to shop, in my opinion. It is great to know that at 20,000 feet in the air I can purchase a metal trashcan that opens at the sound of your voice for $300. It is a great feeling to know that if I feel like purchasing a lawnchair with a built in DVD player for $899, I can do so.

But what do other passengers read on planes? They read the crappy, thick, paper back NY Times best sellers. Or the crappy, thick, paper back suspense/thriller/Tom Clancy/Steven King/CSI: Miami novels. Next time you are on an airplane just look around. I promise you that you will see them. They are everywhere. Everyone reads these things.

So then the plane begins descending. And the ears begin popping. For over 20 minutes the pressure in my ears had built up so bad that I could do nothing about it. I'm swallowing. I'm yawning. I'm tilting my head and opening my jaw. Nothing. Nothing works anymore. Is it possible that one can develop a tolerance with ear popping? That is certainly worth exploring later in life.

And finally the plane lands, a solid three hours later than when it was supposed to. And here is something I have failed to understand. The plane lands, gently meanders over to the terminal, parks, and then the seatbelt light flashes off. And what does everyone on board do? They leap out of their seats, collect all their belongings, and....stand there. They join the rest of the rushed idiots in the aisle to stand there, up against one another for another 10 minutes. Do people honestly think that when the sign goes off, they are going to be the only one to jump up, grab their stuff, and run down the empty aisle out of the plane? The foolishness of people baffles me. I always just sit there. I enjoy looking up at all the fools from my comfortable seat. Sometimes I will make eye contact with one of the "standing ones" and there is that faint flicker of humiliation in their eyes. The best is when they sit back down. They admit defeat. They join me and the other smart passengers who are still sitting. We are the ones who should be sitting up in the front, on those large, blue, padded seats with the extra leg room. We should be the ones that get to sit next to people who read good and interesting literature. We should be the ones that get the free drinks. But no, we are stuck in the back on the uncomfortable, cramped seats next to the large, stupid, loud people who hog the armrests and jump up out of their seats the moment the seatbelt sign flashes off.