“Summer’s not over,” says an American Airlines ad. “Book your trip now.”
As much as I'd like to, I have to decline. Thank you, but no. Not this summer.
Even though flights are cheap, airports are all but empty.
But the occasional plane does come in, like the one my grandson flew in last week. He’d been to a family event in North Carolina, all masked up. Though he towers over most people at six feet, two inches, he had to travel as an unaccompanied minor, complete with a wrist band.
I had to sign for him, the way you do when you pick up a package. The Delta ticket agent told him that on his next birthday, he could fly without all the fuss. Then she wondered out loud if people will be flying at all.
And we all wonder. There used to be throngs of business people flying in and out of our airport. There used to be Space Camp kids from all over the world and travelers who saved enough frequent flier miles to earn free trips somewhere. So off we went.
Even though we were going on an adventure, we complained a bit. It's human nature.
I used to hate airline food. It tastes like hot, cheesy cardboard with red sauce on top. There are wilted greens on the side holding up chunky croutons. There are pretzels for every course. Still, in all the years I’ve been flying, I’ve only gotten sick once after a seafood meal, and only then after we’d landed. “Never order the seafood,” says a long-retired flight attendant, amazed that I didn’t know that.
I used to complain about the tight seating, and the way the seat back in front of me ended up in my lap when a passenger stretched out. I’m a small person, but the space allotted for those who fly economy is like a junior high gym locker. Imagine climbing into one of those and staying for eight hours.
I used to fret about delays and schedule changes and how when you get to Gate 28 you realize you are in the wrong concourse and you have to race to catch the tram that takes you to the right gate where your flight is pulling away. They let you on anyway, most of the time.
I used to grumble about TSA security people confiscating numerous corkscrews and nail scissors over the years, and once a magic wand I’d bought for my granddaughter’s dress up play dates. Like I was going to cast a spell on the pilot and make him fly to the wrong city.
And last year at this time, an airline agent in London’s crowded Heathrow Airport told me I couldn’t board my flight home since the computer said I was already on the plane. Unless I had a doppelgänger, there was just me, standing there in front of her, the harried gate agent. She never straightened things out but let me on the plane anyway. It must have been a long day.
But now I can’t wait to fly again. Now it would seem like the amazing thing it really is. You start out in your home town and ten uncomfortable hours later, you’re in a different land where people speak a different language and eat food you can’t pronounce, but aren’t you lucky to be there?
And isn’t it human nature to forget that?
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August 12, 2020 at 06:47PM
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Flying’s a hassle, until you can’t do it - AL.com
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