Travel Day from April 2007

Let me start out by saying that I have always enjoyed traveling. From the time I was a little kid, crammed with my hormone-ridden teenage sister in the backseat of the family Buick, driving in the blazing August heat with the windows down—because apparently 75 cents for a gallon of gas was highway robbery in 1985 and my father refused to use the air conditioning—I have always loved a road trip. Who could forget the time during the trip to New Jersey to break in the new Lincoln Towncar, complete with rudders, an engine room, and a first mate, that we discovered the moonroof leaked?!? A lot. Did I mention that we were apparently following some monsoon along the east coast?!?

But, that was the thrill of the family vacation. We never stopped at a restaurant to eat. We always brought coolers of roast beef and ham and cheese and soda pop and chips and crackers. Most everything Mom had prepared specifically for the trip. But never ask to bring chocolate…too messy. I remember desperately wanting to go to McDonalds or Big Boy or Rax, but we simply pulled up to the rest stop and spread our goods on the picnic table and had ourselves a good ol fashioned road side picnic stop.

I have been fortunate over the years to have jobs that require quite a bit of travel. Driving, flying, training, even boating, I have been all over the country, visiting most states that I care to visit. I have yet to go to Montana and still want to experience the whole brokeback mountain thing in Big Sky Country, but I digress. I have even traveled across the world on several occasions, in lots of places where I couldn't understand a word they spoke, but it was still fun and without incident. Except for that time in Amsterdam where we decided it would be a good idea to drink for 12 hours, do backbends in the red light district and tell everyone that it was someone's birthday. That is another story for another time.

Today was a bit of a different story. I pulled into my usual parking spot at the airport and the shuttle driver was unusually chatty. That tends to be a pretty good indication that the rest of the day is about to turn to crap. It is as if the driver knows the impending doom that the travel industry is about to create. But, I oblige him and we talk about how he loves to cut the grass on his two acre farm and how much he and "the missus" love to go out "fishin' in their watering hole" on their land. I am so not joking, either. We part ways, me with my luggage in tow and he with a $5 tip in hand and I drag my belongings to the crosswalk.

Let me take a moment to express the importance of tipping while traveling. In this instance, I gave the driver $5 because he lifted my luggage out of my car and onto the shuttle bus and then took them off the bus and drug them to the curb. There is a good chance that I will see this guy again on my return trip or another visit to the airport. And he will remember me and he will go out of his way to help me. Unlike that dreadful woman who just stands there at the door and smiles and says, "which airline today?" as I practically trip up the steps with my overpacked bags. And, if you haven't experienced the wrath of the housekeeping staff in a hotel who don't get their tip, then you haven't traveled. Forget to leave a dollar or two on your pillow and expect to have the alarm clock screaming at you at deafening levels at 3:00 in the morning. Even if you do tip, remember to safely store your toothbrush where they can't find it. I'll leave it at that.

I make my way to the ticket counter with my printed boarding passes and ID in hand and scan my pass at the computer. "Your reservation requires assistance by an agent. Please see an agent for assistance." Wonderful.

I flag down help and the lady looks at me like I have three heads. The look of disbelief on her face is quite obvious and she comes out from behind the counter to see if the computer really doesn't recognize my boarding pass or if I am just lying to her. "It has been working fine all day and your reservations looks ok to me, I am just not sure why you couldn't do this." Thanks, lady. Just get me to the gate.

Sure enough, if doesn't work for her and she has to rework my reservation. She tells me that she gets my emergency exit seats back for the entire trip, but my gut tells me to believe otherwise. And when I strike up a conversation about JCrew fashions with the young guy wearing the JCrew tie who is helping her, I thought maybe that would help my chances at a first-class bump. No chance. She even says, "tell him, there isn't a nice thing about me today." Again, thanks, lady!

So I get to the gate, get on my first flight and end up next to some disgruntled engineer who is pissed off at the entire airline industry and me because apparently he was supposed to be in my aisle seat, but they screwed up his reservation too and he was put into the window seat. But, I have an emergency exit aisle seat, the next best thing to first class, and I am not going to give it up. Thank goodness for the miracle of the iPod. I grab my current issue of GQ, slip on my headphones, and disappear into a little Pete Yorn, Josh Rouse, and even some vintage David Gray. I think he got the hint.

Of course we are late getting into Minneapolis and rather than stopping at a gate close to where I am connecting at, we end up on a different concourse. After I do the deplane tango with the mixture of amateur-fliers, crackberry addicts who can't wait to start typing and screaming into their devices, and other random travelers who can't seem to gather their belongings in a timely fashion, I make my way across three concourses with just enough time to hear them calling my row for my flight. Oh sweet emergency exit row, I can't wait to sit in your expansive seat.

"We're sorry Mr. Mainella, we've had an equipment change and you're not sitting in that seat anymore." Great, I think. Maybe they had to bump me to first class. Oh no, not even a chance. "You're in a window seat." At least it might be an exit row. Wrong again. Not a chance.

Here I sit, on a four hour, completely full flight to Portland, two rows behind a very agitated and screaming child, scrunched into a window seat directly behind some guy who can't stop squirming and adjusting and in front of a woman who if she pushes my seat with her knees one more time, I might turn around the slap her. The guys sitting next to me have no desire to engage in conversation and that is perfectly ok with me. However, it probably wasn't a good idea to drink those two bottles of water on the last flight.

And, when Mr. Ant-in-his-pants in front of me asked the flight attendant for a pillow, she looked a him and said "ha, we can't afford pillows anymore." Can they afford enough fuel to get to Portland?

That is what is most important. Getting to Portland in one piece. And having my luggage there when I land would be nice too. Especially since I have my very favorite pair of jeans and my new favorite cologne in there. They are essential to my dinner date tonight.

These are the days when I kind of miss the backseat of the family Buick and the roadside picnic stops. Those were truly simpler times. Alas, the pilot has just told us to prepare for landing. That may have been the best announcement to come out of this flight.

Be well friends and safe travels!