I didn’t always dread flying, but I do now.
Don’t get me wrong — the concept is amazing. The idea that we can pile into tin cans and — through a combination of lift, engine power and decades of trial and error — soar through the skies at breakneck speeds boggles my mind. It’s the whole “pile into tin cans” part that I have trouble with.
As an out-of-state student, I have enough experience with airports to say I would rather cling to the talons of a migrating pigeon than fly on a commercial jet. The drive home to Connecticut can exceed eight hours with traffic, and the train schedule is apparently a Libra while my class schedule is a Capricorn, because the two are always incompatible. As a result, I have become quite familiar with flying.
My animosity towards airplanes, terminals and the invention of manned flight in general strengthened when I attempted to return to the University after Spring Break. I was connecting through Philadelphia, and I was more than ready to visit the land of brotherly love. My plane wasn’t quite as excited — in fact, it was missing.
When we touched down in Pennsylvania three hours after our planned arrival time, I scrambled off the plane, grabbed my suitcase and hurdled over TSA agents to reach my connector’s gate. In my time flying US Airways, all of my flights have been delayed — all of my flights except this one, which had departed on-time 20 minutes earlier.
Exhausted after eight hours of fruitless transit, I slumped over to the customer service station to get a ticket for the next flight. I’d be leaving the next day and, in situations like these, the airline usually gives you a room for the night. When I asked if I’d be staying at the cushy Marriott attached to the airport, the lady behind the desk told I’d be staying at a motel that might have been the inspiration for “Psycho.”
If airplanes are monuments to mankind’s determination and ingenuity, then airlines are proof humans can be diabolical people. I will maintain this opinion until airlines give hotel upgrades and Delta returns my missing luggage from several flights ago. Where are my gym shorts and sweatervests, Delta? Is one of your flight attendants using my suitcase right now? How deep does this conspiracy go?
Traveling is never easy, and it’s the unpredictability of flying that makes it especially frustrating. You don’t know who you’re sitting next to — perhaps “stuck with” is more accurate — until you climb into the cabin. Sometimes I find myself seated beside a fellow Hoo, and we’ll have an interesting chat about life on Grounds. More often than not, I’m trapped behind the one guy on the plane who reclines his seat as far back as humanly possible. Other uncertainties include: will my flight attendant be sassy or grumpy? Will my carry-on luggage fit in the compartment? Does this terminal serve pretzel bites?
Despite my grievances with flying, at the end of the day, I’m just glad to have made it to my destination safe and sound. Plus, the whole experience is worthwhile once you admire the views from the window seat. I’ve seen the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains, clouds drift by the Statue of Liberty and the twinkling lights of a thousand cars crossing the George Washington Bridge. After all the frustrations of flying, these views aren’t a bad way to end the trip.
John’s column runs biweekly Fridays. He can be reached at j.benenati@cavalierdaily.com.
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