The Interminable Terminal


“Stop calling me Shirley!” I had to fly this week for work, and as always air travel is an adventure. Figuring that Mondays are busy at airports because of all the business travelers I got there about two hours before my flight to give me plenty of time to wait in lines and get some lunch before I got on my plane. All went as I had planned until I got to my gate about 15 minutes before the alleged boarding was to occur. My flight was delayed for an hour. So I got all Edward Snowden-like and went up to the girl at the Cinnabon counter and requested asylum. She didn’t seem to appreciate, or understand,  my brilliant current events humor.

I was flying somewhere for a job interview that I was very excited about and while I sat there waiting for my flight to board all I could think of was the verse from the Alanis Morrisette song Ironic  that goes: Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly, He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye, He waited his whole damn life to take that flight, And as the plane crashed down he thought “Well isn’t this nice…” And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think? Yup. Seriously. I couldn’t stop that song from playing in my head like it was on a loop. How awful is that?

My comedic genius was also not appreciated at the security check where, just for fun, when I stepped into that tall, round telephone booth-like scanner where you hold your hands over your head, as soon as it started I screamed as if my skin was on fire just to rattle the first time fliers nearby.


That kind of behavior may explain why my checked luggage was searched on both my way to my destination and on my return the next day. I had a small suitcase. When I got to my hotel and opened it, it appeared as if the contents had been ransacked by a rabid monkey on Red Bull. Of course it had one of those oh-so-courteous notes telling me that TSA had “inspected” my luggage. My brother works for TSA, so I’m considering photoshopping a picture of him in his TSA uniform doing something terribly unspeakable with the President and putting that photo in my suitcase just to give them something else to think about next time they inspect my luggage. I’m also saving that TSA letter and putting it in my luggage when I pack just to confuse them the next time they do it.

Lastly, if airplanes are so technologically advanced that they can do whatever voodoo it is that makes a 200 ton object float in midair for hours, why do they still use the seat belts from a 1955 Buick Skylark?


If only I had my own airline…

air phil

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