Life of the Lintee Bean

I hate to fly. Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it.

I didn’t always. Years ago I flew all the time, voluntarily. Learned to pack light (carry-on only) and hop on a plane without much notice and fly off for business or pleasure. Built up a pretty decent pool of frequent flyer miles.

First, let me clarify – I am not *afraid* of flying. Hating and fearing are different things. I have no worries that the plane will suddenly drop out of the sky with me in it. I just hate being stuck on an airplane. I also hate sitting in an airport. I hate the entire process, from packing to getting to the airport to waiting at the airport to getting on an airplane and arriving at another airport and traveling from that airplane to get to my destination to doing the entire thing in reverse.

I can almost pinpoint the time when I started hating it. I think it was a (very long) flight to Hawaii. Stuck in a little seat for hours, needing to use the restroom but having to wait because the flight attendants had the aisle blocked with the food cart. That was many miserable hours, I have to say – and the return flight was no better.

Specifically, I think I basically detest:

• being confined to a small space for a long time, and
• people.

There are a LOT of people on airplanes and in airports, and maybe it’s just me but a large number of them seem to be stupid, whiney, or carrying something contagious.

However, I did have to fly for business recently, and the flight was as painful as usual. I got to the airport okay – thankfully, my wonderful doctor (seriously, this guy is fantastic) agreed to give me some Valium for the trip. Better living through chemistry, you know. So, I took a couple Valium before I headed out (walking to the el, taking the el to the airport). For reasons I can’t remember (cheaper flight? thought I’d appreciate more time at home?) I had booked a 6:40 flight. I arrived to the airport VERY early, hoping to fly the 3:00 flight on stand-by. The minute I arrived at the gate, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. The flight was delayed over an hour. There were tons of people hanging at the gate, most of them complaining. Around 4:30 I verified with airline staff there was no way I was getting on the flight – and I trudged over to the gate in an attempt to fly stand-by on the 5:00 flight. I settled in to wait – and Ms. Whiney and her son stomped up to the gate to scream at the staff because they got the seats they requested. (I know, I know… apparently they asked for window seats, and got window seats, but that’s not what they *wanted*.) I took two more Valium.

Needless to say, I did not get on the 5:00 flight – and I trudged over to another gate for the 6:40 flight. It was delayed. (Are you starting to understand why I find this a pretty miserable process?)

So, I’m finally boarding the “6:40 flight” (which was not at 6:40), and as I approach the door the boarding attendant notifies me I cannot carry on my carry-on. The flight is too full He assures me my bag will be right as I get off the plane, with the priority carry-ons, strollers, etc. I’m not happy about it, but what am I going to do? I give up my bag.

I settle into my little seat (noticing that not only was there room for my carry-on in the overhead bin above me, but many passengers boarding after me were bringing *their* carry-ons). I was hoping I’d doze off and sleep through the over four hour flight.

I was tapped on the shoulder and a woman asked if I’d mind doing her a favor. She wanted to sit with her daughter, who was afraid of flying. Geeze, fine, I’ll take her seat – which I find out is a *middle* seat. So now instead of my aisle seat, I’m between a large man and a woman that’s coughing and sneezing and sniffling. Fantastic. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much. Instead, I sat uncomfortably with my legs aching and I had soda spilled on me – twice. Once by a woman across the aisle, how she managed that, I don’t know.

We finally arrive at our destination, and of course my bag is *not* with the priority carry-ons and strollers, I’m told I have to collect it at baggage claim.  Fantastic.  So, now I have to stand in baggage claim, waiting for my bag that I did not want to check.

I get my bag and hail a taxi.  I’m in the home stretch.  The cab gets me to my hotel relatively uneventfully, for a $45 fare.  Oops – didn’t plan on it being quite that high.  I’d like to use my credit card, which gets me a long lecture from the cab driver.  I said forget it, I’d just pay cash, but the lecture simply continued.

Anyway, I’m finally at my hotel and I can collapse into bed.

The flight back was not much better.  Once again, the flight was delayed and I got home late and grabbed a cab home.

So, I *still* hate flying – really I hate traveling in general.

Edited to add:  Oh my!  I forgot the restroom fiasco!

I crawled over my fellow passenger once to use the restroom, and walked to the back of the plane.  One of the lavatories was “occupied” (a passenger had locked the door, signaling it was in use) and the other “vacant”.  Opened the door and was screamed at by a woman inside (shut door quickly).  Flight attendant standing nearby laughed and said “Oh, there’s a woman in there.”  Well, that would have been nice to know *before* I opened the door!

Woman finally exits the “vacant” restroom and I back up to let her access her seat.  Instead of sitting down, though, she proceeds to stand in the aisle bent over her seat doing who-knows-what.  Waiting and waiting (as is the person behind me).  Man exits the other lavatory and we’re all waiting while the woman does who-knows-what.  Finally the man looks at me and asks “Can you climb over her?”  Well, I suppose I can – and I do (uncomfortably) and get into the lavatory she’d left.