…and boy are my arms tired.
When I arrived at my gate at the Phoenix International Airport, I was out of breath, my shoulder was screaming from lugging my ridiculously overpacked laptop bag, and my feet throbbed at the audacity of running across a terminal in high-heel boots. (An extra pair of shoes didn’t fit in my laptop bag).
I JUST made my connecting flight to Seattle after having started my day with a 3 am wake up call and a very empty Denver Airport. And I don’t know about you, but every time I have a morning appointment that forces me to rise at stupidly early times, I sleep like crap. Fearful that one of my three alarms will fail, or my wake up call will be forgotten.
So I truly was not in the mood for the attitude. “Next time you should really try to get here on time,” explained the flight attendant.
Umm…what?
Sorry, I generally try to have a positive attitude, look for the best in all situations, and attempt to understand the other side in all combative moments. I don’t think I’ve drafted a single negative post the entire time I’ve written this blog.
And I know it’s cliche to complain about air travel, but I have officially decided that driving for two straight days between Denver and Seattle is better than this insanity. And that includes the mind numbing and lonely trek across Wyoming and all three of its gas stations. You know when you are on the road and you see those trucks packed with cages stacked on top of the other, each crammed with a wind-blown chicken?
That’s modern air travel. But wait…joy upon joy…for only $5 I can by a sad package of wet salami, two crackers and a bag of cookies. At least for now, the ginger ale is still free.
And here’s another hilarious absurdity of air travel.
So you are allowed two carry-on items. One to stow under the seat and one to put overhead. It doesn’t matter the relative size, weight or awkwardness of said items. It’s the number of items, not the space they take, that matter in this mad hatter world. So I have a purse, a laptop bag and a foldable metal presentation stand that can squeeze into even the most packed overhead bin with ease.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the third TSA agent told me, “you are only allowed two items.”
After cramming my purse and all of its contents into my laptop bag (remember said shoulder and its incessant screaming?) I boarded with no ability to actually retrieve any items from my bag.
OK…my rant is ending. I made it to Seattle, secured my rental car and just cleansed off the grime and attitude in a nice hot shower. Now it’s off to much grander things…specifically the art world of Camano Island. I have a feeling it might just be worth the arduous ordeal of air travel. It might even be worth being called “ma’am.”
