Ahh, the friendly skies...

I don’t know what all the hullabaloo is about. Anytime I say I’m going to the airport, somebody always proclaims “Ooohhhh, I love to fly!” To those people, I say “I think you’ve eaten too many complimentary peanuts.” I hate it. I mean, I really hate it. If I had John Madden’s bus, I would be taking that monstrosity to Fort Lauderdale instead of this death rocket.
Let’s go over what a typical flight day entails, shall we? Wake up at the asscrack of dawn because you want to beat the crowds (dipshit, if everyone wants to beat the crowd, then you ARE the crowd), get to the airport in record time in order to stand in line.
“How many are you checking in, sir?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too big to carry on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too small to check in.”
“You’re in the wrong line.”
“Lois, come here. Have you ever seen this before.”
“Please check the board. I know they were working on the engine.”
But you go through another snake like maze to the next checkpoint, and after walking through a number of times, are greeted by a good rodgering because you left your belt on and the buckle’s too big. Once you finally abscond your national-security compromising hand lotion, you wait for an absorbitant amount of time for the plane, which you can clearly see through the window, but just isn’t ready for you to sit on.
And now to the flight. Isn’t this fun? Find whatever seat’s available. At this point, it’s probably next to the unshowered fella with the breathing problem and no reading material. He’s taking the outer seat because the view through the window makes him feel like shipping a used Soft Baked Apple Bar your way. You graciously take the inner seat (what choice do you have?) and squeeze past him, even though he’s unwilling to compromise his current position, so you have to pull a Retton and somersault into your 18 inch wide home.
Waiting…waiting…waiting…
OK, it’s time to take off. This is where it really gets enjoyable. The plane sits on the runway behind 22 other vehicles with the same idea. Finally, your plane’s number is called and you’re ready to take off. The man in the snazzy coat up front steps on it and nearly shoots you into the back wall. I hope you brought your gum,. You’re gonna need it. Oh, and some aspirin wouldn’t hurt, either.
You’ve made it in to the air. You’re plateauing. With the exception of the continual fear that if something goes awry, there’s not an airbag big enough to save you, you’re in pretty good shape…
And then…turbulence. You’re bumping around, you’re bouncing, you’re nauseous. You’re praying for a Gawddamn refill of ginger ale, but none are available because the Captain has asked even the flight attendants to buckle up (not a good sign, by the way). There will be no stomach settling pretzels or ginger ale until after you actually need them.
But the turbulence subsides, and the flight takes on an ordinary path. You get the next few hours to look out the window and envision what it would be like to land on this patch of land and that building. You realize how expansive the land is and recognize that you’re life is more nondescript and unfulfilled than it was before you boarded. You’re depressed now.
Did you like the ascension? Oh, that’s good, because you’re gonna get another hefty dose of it on the way down, but with a hint of “he’s going down a little fast, isn’t he?” thrown in for posterity. Then the death rocket’s 6 tires land on Earth, bounce the rocket a couple of times, then goes from a million to 6 MPH in a matter of seconds. You put your head down, and color yourself lucky and thankful that you weren’t going to be the lead story tonight.
Waiting…waiting…waiting…
Time passes and it’s OK for you to stand, but I’m not sure why you would, because you’re not leaving until everyone else has gone, it seems. But they’re officially in vacation mode. Plus, they’re at the endo f an article and they’re not yet ready to leave. After all, they’ve paid $469 for a ticket on the rocket and they’re sucking the nickels out. So, you stand and wait, patiently, but what you really want to do? What you really want to do is let out a barbaric yawp. Unfortunately, the airline frowns on that.
You make your way through the lingerers and get out of the plane. The next piece of travelling pleasure is baggage claim. Aaahhhh, baggage claim. Just follow the signs. Take this left, then another left, then another left, then another left, take a right, go down the stairs, head out the door, go across the parking lot, grab the shuttle, make your way into town, take a right at the retard selling fireworks, and you should see the baggage claim about a ¼ mile up on the right. Credit to the airlines, as 90% of the time, your bags are there.
Have a great vacation. Can’t wait until it’s over so we can do this again.