ADVENTURES IN AIRLINE TRAVEL, OR: THE PLANE TRUTH

Why do a lot of people bitch and moan about flying nowadays? I rode on Delta “Song” to get from New York City to Miami, and had no trouble with it.

“Song,” for those of you who have never heard of it, is Delta’s lower cost, lesser frills airline. They use smaller planes, and I don’t think there’s any first class section. Which is fine by me. My ass fits perfectly into a coach seat, so a coach seat is what I buy. Satellite TV for every chair, which isn’t exactly new. But “Song” offers a choice of in-flight movie for a small nominal fee.

One of the most common complaints I’ve heard from airplane-travel naysayers is how long it takes to check in. I remember the last time I flew, about two years ago, I had to get to JFK Airport 90 minutes early so I and my suitcases could stand in line to get a luggage tag. The airline subsequently lost my luggage, but without the handy tag, I would have had trouble proving it. Anyway, I empathize with those who have to arrive at the airport several hours early, because they have to wait in line to check in a suitcase or twelve, then have to wait in another line to get their boarding pass. My advice to those who don’t like lining up for a boarding pass is: Buy your ticket on-line at Delta “Song,” then just swipe your credit card at the Delta kiosk to get your printed boarding pass. It’s that simple!

Meanwhile, my advice for those who hate how long it takes to check in twenty suitcases is: Don’t pack so many goddamn suitcases! I learned my lesson after the last time the airline lost mine! This time, I didn’t pack any suitcase. No clothes, no toothbrush, no nothin.’ Instead, when I arrived at Ft. Lauderdale Airport, I went to the luggage carousel, grabbed the first suitcase I saw, then made a bee-line for the nearest dark corner. I put on whatever clothes I found in that suitcase. It sure beat having to buy new things! I exited the airport wearing two layers of shirts and sweaters, and a sundress underneath. Believe me, that sundress will come in real handy down on South Beach!

Back to airline travel: Why do people complain about having to sit next to fellow travellers, especially in the dreaded “middle seat?” I bought my ticket less than two weeks before the scheduled date of the flight, and the only seats available were between window seats and aisle seats. But the price was a steal, so I took a middle seat in the last row, which was in front of the bathroom. Best decision I made since graduating college. After all, my office at Nautica is right next to the Ladies’ Room, and the flushing of toilets there is much louder than on the airplane. So the middle seat, rather than being an inconvenience, was actually an improvement on real life.

Of course, in most situations, the real problem with sitting in the dreaded “middle seat” are the occupants of the “left-hand seat” and the “right-hand seat.” What if you find yourself sitting between a mother with a colicky baby and a fiberglass salesman from Duluth who won’t stop talking your ear off about the wonders of modern aquarium technology? My advice: Introduce the Corningware Man to the mother of the blue-faced infant, then start tossing around ideas for a soundproof, fishbowl-style container that can hold babies during airplane travel. In other words, let West meet East. Erect that golden bridge!

Luckily for me, I got sandwiched between a sleeping Hispanic woman and a black guy who seemed too tired and/or distracted to talk. Just to be on the safe side, however, I turned to the black guy and said to him:

“Hey pal, normally I’m the type who enjoys a good conversation, but I’ve been diagnosed with violent schizophrenia, and it takes all my mental concentration to keep from molesting the woman sleeping to the right of me. So please, please, PLEASE, don’t talk to me during the flight. Just let me watch CNN in a hypnotic trance. Or allow me to listen to the airplane radio, while I relive the happy childhood the hypnotist implanted in my brain.”

Unfortunately, when the guy to the left asked if he could have sloppy seconds with the Hispanic woman after I was done with her, I began to suspect that I had taken the wrong tact. Good thing a flight attendant walked by. I asked for a new seat while thumb-pointing to the black dude over my shoulder and mouthing, “Weirdo.” That’s how I got an aisle seat way up at the front of the plane.

That strange encounter could have tainted what was otherwise a nondescript two-hour-and-forty-five minute flight. But thanks to my miraculous coping powers, I had already forgotten him by the time I was at the luggage carousel donning someone else’s pumps and flower-patterned sundress. Better off not remembering him. Man, what a freak!