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Monday, April 24, 2017

The Fine Line Between Indignity and Inanity, or, The Travails of Travel

I was thinking over recent events related to travel while basking in a hot shower this morning and the difference small things can make to the general impression of a trip. I recently returned from a very pleasant trip to Seattle. I had a great trip out on the Empire Builder. The train arrived early, the accommodations were very nice, the food good; it was very relaxing. Seattle itself was its usual charming and wet self, but the rain made itself known mostly when I wasn't outside walking around (or perhaps I was just clever enough to schedule myself around it.) The museums were all spectacular and everything was fun, public transportation making it easy and inexpensive to get around.

The return trip on a new American Airlines 737-800 was as to be expected, overbooked, very full, cramped (the poor tall fellow next to me in the middle seat suffering from a cold which he indelicately managed to transfer to me) spent the four-hour flight with his knees in his nose after the girl in front of him reclined her seat all the way. (Why do we need to have seats that recline, anyway?) He never complained (no doubt being a seasoned and hardened traveler used to the indignity of it all.) The flight entertainment system was quite good, and I had some nice NC earphones, so my suffering was no worse than usual.

The worst part of any flight now, as every traveler knows, is the airport and TSA. From the moment you set foot in the terminal you realize that everyone (even other passengers) views you as the "enemy" and potential terrorist. Loudspeaker messages remind you to constantly be vigilant for unattended bags, people nervously eye others (especially those of darker skin or wearing a turban); interminable lines where dogs walk up the lines sniffing for explosives, currency, drugs and probably also liquids over three ounces (give me a chemist and I'll show you how to create a problem with fewer than three ounces.)

After waiting patiently in line for 30 minutes and removing belt, shoes, and emptying pockets so I could be body scanned, my carry on was selected for hand search. No problem, I always arrive at the airport at least three hours early -- that's what Kindles and laptops are for, right? Of course, that meant extra waiting until the surliest TSA rep showed up. (One dares not try to be friendly or joke with these guys, that's guaranteed to make them suspicious, after all you are a potential terrorist.)

Now, I like to avoid buying plastic bottles whenever possible, and I had my usual container with less than 3 ounces of Mt. Dew (it's a clear bottle) in my bag, intending to fill it up with water later (I was trying to ration my doses of caffeine). The guy holds it up, looks at me clearly disapprovingly; after all, I'm white, 70-years-old, with a beard so clearly a threat, and wanted to know what it was. Not wanting to make a problem, I offered to drink the contents right there. I was informed that in order to do so I would have to exit security and drink it outside security and then go through security again. Or, throw the bottle in the trash (well he would, I wasn't allowed to touch anything.) So much for that bottle. I have racked my brain trying to figure out how we are safer by drinking the contents outside security, just making more work for them but having to process me all over again. But what the hey.

Now I enjoy flying, i.e. being in a plane as it goes up and down, but the airport experience has gotten so ridiculous, the inane approaching indignity, that from now on it's car or train (I'd have to be chained and dragged on to a bus -why aren't there luxury non-stop buses with wi-fi and snacks to get places?) When the airport experience (I do hate that word) becomes so inane that it approaches the ridiculous, it's time to get off.

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