F is for Flying

When you fly, not only do you check your baggage, you check all control of your life. I hate flying not because I'm afraid of crashing and dying (though, that would probably stink), but because I can't CONTROL everything just the way I like.

Plane's on time, plane's not on time. Now we have the plane, but we don't have a crew. Now we're on the plane, but there's a big lineup on the runway ahead of us to take off. I have to sit there and can't yell at anyone!

A recent flight from LaGuardia in New York (I know, I know) to Fort Lauderdale: the JetBlue sign keeps saying "on time," even thought there is no plane at the gate and it is almost time to board.

Our plane arrives at the gate 20 minutes late, and the woman at the desk tells us our flight will be very full, please check extra luggage, don't hog bins when you get on the plane, etc. Passengers milling about start to shift closer to the boarding line area, jostling for position to get on. Time ticks by, but there is no announcement to start boarding.

More minutes pass, and then desk lady (who sounds an awful lot like Snooki) announces: "Listen up passengers on flight 318 to Fort Lauderdale. Here is some information. The plane that is here is not your plane. This plane is going to another gate to take people to West Palm Beach. Your plane is having mechanical fumferfumferfumfer unintelligible and will be here in an hour."

The hour turns into an hour and a half. I amuse myself by taking note of all the families waiting to get on our flight, and how children are shaped like their parents. Look, those round people have round children. The tall people with slim hips have tall children with slim hips. One adorable 2-year-old blond boy is terrorizing the entire terminal, pulling at the elastic straps on the metal poles that rope people off into lines. He keeps detaching the straps, causing them to fwap loudly into the metal poles. The father is sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, while the older sister, about 8, is making valiant attempts to get the boy to stop.

Finally, our actual plane arrives! I hope that the blond boy and his peers have all exhausted themselves so that they will pass out in their seats. My hope is fulfilled! We land in Fort Lauderdale only two hours late.

Then we experience my least favorite of all my least favorites about flying: the lag between the "bing" that lets you jump out of your seat, and the moment when the door actually opens...and then people eventually start to move out of the plane. (Let me out let me out let me out get out of my way.)

But, similar to childbirth, the pain of flying fades quickly once I get back home...and start dreaming about our next vacation. So, yes, I will fly again. And I will hate it.