I love to travel, but I hate travelling. Planes, Trains, Buses, especially in the post-911 era just suck the lifeblood out of a person. We are flying home on American Airlines and our flight is delayed by about an hour and a half. We had a two hour connection to clear customs and change planes at JFK which is now looking a bit sketchy. The airline personnel remain optimistic, and ask that all passengers do the same. They remind us, with kind and friendly smiles, that anyone who becomes overly upset will be handcuffed and thrown in prison.
The in-flight entertainment is about to begin. I am hoping for some real entertainment such as that which one flight had the other day, when a possibly-drunk passenger became irate with another for reclining his seat and a fist fight ensued, requiring the assistance of a couple of F-16’s, and resulting in the plane being diverted to another airport for an emergency landing. I would like to be diverted – maybe to Spain, or perhaps France, but with my luck, we would probably end up in Iceland.
There is a Texan who’s about the size of a longhorn sitting across the aisle from me, and he is ignoring the flight crew’s requests to return his seat to the upright position for meal service. As a result, the elderly man sitting behind him is being bisected by his tray table. I don’t think he has the stamina for a fist fight in the aisle. And besides, he couldn’t get out of his seat even if he wanted to. He is pinned between the tray table and his chair back in what is proving to be a new form of non-invasive gastro-surgery which is successfully preventing him from eating anything.
Not that he would want to eat what he’s been served. The meal is pasta, served with stale bread and a side of pasta, several butter pats, and some butter cookies. This is American Air’s version of fusion cuisine – a blend of Italian and American traditions. “Why are there two pasta entrées and no salads?” inquires the passenger behind me. “I am not complaining”, she adds quickly, in case the steward should sense some unrest and inform the hidden air marshall. “e Coli”, replies the flight attendant. Oh! I see they have figured out the source of the cucumber-sprouts e-coli scare – it is coming from airline food! Any frequent traveler could have guessed that! The pasta is ziti in a tomato-based sauce, cooked al trente. Trente means thirty in Italian, and it refers to the number of minutes of overcooking needed to turn pasta from al dente into soggy mush.
The plane we are on is an older 767-300. The stewardess comes by, passing out headphones and binoculars. “The headphones are complementary!” she informs us. “They can be used over and over!” Wow! I feel special. The binoculars are so you can actually see the movie, which is displayed on one of three six-inch monitors suspended from the plane’s ceiling in the economy cabin – one monitor for every 15 rows of seats. It’s not as far away as it seems, since fifteen rows of seats fit into a space about the size of a typical entry closet.
The movie has just ended – a sad story about a country singer-turned alcoholic who ends up committing suicide. I guess the airline movie selection committee felt the passengers could empathize with the ending, given that they all had just finished their meals. Our cabin attendant has just rushed down the aisle with something that looks like a large gray quilt. Or could it be a body bag? The line for the lavoratory is forming, no doubt a result of the digestive pressures of the “meal”. Oh well. Everyone likes to return from vacation a few pounds lighter. As usual, the airline has our best interest at heart.
Once we arrive at JFK, you can tell you have returned home. Confusion reigns as everyone dashes off the plane OJ Simpson-style to try to make their connections. Due to our tight connection we are given a special bright orange paper to waive, allowing us to use special fast lanes. We breeze through passport control but are required to go through baggage inspection because I have declared that I am bringing home food - dried porcini mushrooms, canned black truffle spread, canned fish pate and a host of other hard to find things I picked up to help me recreate some of the delicious food we've enjoyed. We approach the inspector and I nonchalantly waive my orange sticker, noting our next flight is leaving any minute. He is generous and lets us go through without opening our suitcases, and we rush to recheck our bags.
We then realize we must exit the international terminal, go to the domestic terminal, and reclear security. Ugh!!!!!! Several Italians are in the same predicament and we all begin running. At security we are escorted to the "fast" lane which is so packed it's moving like a snail, and we are told to get into the regular line to get through more quickly. We comply and end up in an excrutiatingly slow line manned by a dimwit TSA agent who has no clue how to interpret the xray images. She is scanning and rescanning the bag of a guy 10 people in front of us, and she is convening a coffee clutch with her fellow dimwits to try to understand what she is seeing. Just pull the f-ing bag off the line and open it up for inspection! Finally a supervisor does just this, but we all must stand there while the trainee agent observes. The bag is scanned again, and again it is pulled off for inspection. I am feeling frantic at this point. Another delay - the Italians in front of us don't realize they are required to strip naked to pass through the scanners. Shoes come off, more hand gesturing, then belts and jackets are removed. Finally we get through and everyone makes a run for the gate. We are the last group to board, and the plane pushes off. Then the good news - weather delays in JFK and SFO. We finally taxi to the runway and are number 30 in line for takeoff. Everyone turns on their phones and ipods, and the stewardess gets irate.
Finally we soar into the skies, just in time for the two year old five rows ahead of us to start screaming hysterically. She pretty much didn't stop for the whole flight home. When she would blessedly fall asleep, her tiny brother would wake up and pick up where she left off. The poor parents were frantic, and the mother was rocking the little girl so violently I thought the child would end up with shaken baby syndrome. At last we land. Hooray! Or maybe not.... our bag containing all our gifts is lost. Damn! It never made it out of JFK, according to the airline. It will be delivered to our home tomorrow -- it is already enroute on a plane that will be landing in the middle of the night. I am fearful it was opened by the ag inspectors and my porcinis were removed! But Carena is there waiting to chauffeur us home, and it is great to see her smiling face and to give her a great big hug. We arrive home around 9 PM. The house looks terrific, except for the jungle of a lawn in the backyard, and the neglected garden, with lettuce plants which have grown to be two feet tall and wide, and flowers overflowing out of all the baskets and pots. We force ourselves to stay up until about midnight, ensuring a good sleep and a fair chance to adjust to the jet lag.
I get up early as is my practice, to finish up my blogs and get back to "real" life. C'est la vie! Thanks to all for following along, and I hope you enjoyed reading these ramblings as much as Bob and did in creating the stories that made them up!
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