It's Only Peanuts

Ever since 9/11 I have listened unsympathetically as people, particularly of my parent's generation, complain about how flying just isn't as good as it used to be. To me, all of the stepped up security measures haven't been so bad. When I was 20 I got a full body frisking by an airport security woman who looked like she hated her job or me or both. It turned out that my Victoria's Secret underwire bra had set off the metal detector, and the woman stopped just short of making me take the bra off. As long as I don't have to go through that mortification again, I can handle taking my shoes off and and throwing my belongings in a plastic container for security. Granted, I don't love the fact that air fares seem to have sky rocketed as a result, and I don't feel one bit safer. If anything I feel more vulnerable and more conscious of how fragile life is. Then, the pessimist in me wonders if airports are spending way too much money to ensure that I'm not a terrorist and not enough money to keep the planes in working order.

After flying to Louisville, Kentucky this weekend with my mom and my sister to visit my great-grandma who is 101 years old, I have crossed over to the bitter "flying isn't as good as it used to be" side. Our trip went something like this.

Friday
4:30 am---Arrive at airport. Tired. Grumpy. Check 1 bag because I don't want to reduce every liquid in my toiletry to 3 oz. or less. No choice but to check the bag.
4:50 am---Taking off shoes for security. Mom grumbling as usual about security and walking barefoot on the dirty floor. Likening the process to checking into a Nazi camp.
7:00 am---On the plane. Beverage service SANS peanuts or pretzels. Nothing. Unless you want to pay $3 to $8 for a "snack box". True, I don't really even like peanuts or pretzels, especially not at 7:00 in the morning. But still!! How much could one little bag of pretzels really cost?!
7:30 am---Trying to sleep. Too cold but don't want to ask for blanket because some airlines are charging for it. Don't feel like paying $7 for a blanket and a pillow that's probably been used by countless greasy, dirty travelers.
9:30 am---Connection in Minneapolis. 40 minutes between planes. Starving. Airport turns out to be enormous. Forced to walk through the mini Mall of America trying to get to our gate on the other end of the airport. Walk on moving sidewalk after moving sidewalk. Pass up all the food places thinking I'll get something after I get to my gate.
9:45 am---Finally arrive at gate. Not one food place in sight. Last food place was 1 escalator and 2 moving sidewalks back. Plane is boarding. Still starving and even more grumpy. Dash down the escalator and back on the 2 moving sidewalks to get yucky yogurt because that's all I have time to stand in line for. Guess I didn't need the extra fat calories from better food anyway. Not as hungry but still annoyed.
10:10 am---Sitting at the very back of the plane with the engine's deafening roar in my ears. Plane is hot and stuffy. Flight attendant says it really helps if you keep the window shade down so the sun doesn't come in. No. I'm leaving my window shade up. Let me guess. Trying to conserve air conditioning. At least I'm not tempted to buy that $7 blanket.
10:15 am---Smell of undeodorized people wafting to the back of the plane. Scratch and sniff all the perfume samples in my smut magazine.
11:00 am---Beverage service. No food.
1:00 pm---Plane preparing for landing. Starts to wobble and teeter precariously, accompanied by sporadic loud banging and cracking sounds underneath us. Trying to convince myself I'm being paranoid until my mom says, "Doesn't it seem awfully wobbly?" Feeling nauseated. Palms starting to sweat. Wondering if the tail is getting ready to break off. Wondering if I'm going to have to confess on the other side that rather than spending my last moments in benevolence, they were absorbed in smut from the Marie Claire magazine. Note to self: Never sit in the very back of the plane again.

Sunday
5:30 am---Arrive at airport. Tired. Grumpy. At ticketing to check bag. Greeted by sign that says, "...due to increased gas prices and competitive announcements, it will be $15 to check 1 bag...". Sick and tired of being reminded at every turn that increased gas prices, terrorists, and/or global warming are ruining my life! Sick of being nickel and dimed! Feeling completely disgusted and unreasonable, kind of like Steve Martin in "Father of the Bride" when he's removing the 2 superfluous hotdog buns from the bag because of some conspiracy between the hotdog company and the bun company to force the American public to buy 2 buns they don't need. I've already paid almost $500 for my economy class seat, and you want to charge me $3 for pretzels?!! Tack the #$%& $3 for pretzels and $15 to check a bag and $7 for a blanket on to the price of my ticket to recoup your gas costs and don't tell me about it! I wouldn't even know the difference! What's next? Five dollars to use the bathroom? Ten dollars for the air mask? Twenty dollars for the floatation cushion?

So that's how I feel about flying right now. On the way home, my mom was reminiscing about how airlines used to do things in a much nicer way. They even handed out playing cards and provided an assortment of magazines and newspapers for passengers to read. These days you have to buy your own smut. Even if you were an economy traveler, you felt like you were getting pampered, at least to a degree. Those days are definitely gone thanks to terrorists, gas prices, global warming and whatever else anyone can think of to blame it on.

Flying aside, we had a lovely visit with Me-Maw and my great-aunt Mary. Despite getting off to a bad start food-wise, I ate plenty of delicious food during our stay (much more than I should have had, actually). Me-Maw is amazing. At 101, her mind is probably sharper than mine. She became a widow early in life, so she has always worked hard and lived frugally. When I asked Me-Maw about places she had been during her life, she said she had never really had a REAL vacation, other than spending time with relatives. In comparison to the life Me-Maw has lead, I realize I sound like an ungrateful, spoiled brat. But still.