Abe says new words every day as if he’s known them all his life. The only trouble is, I’m the only one who knows what he’s saying. Friends and professionals have assured me this is normal. Here are the things he said today:
I got home late last night after a long day of traveling. I have questions about the way flying works now. Like, for example, security is like a hot nightclub with a secret code to get in. The cool kids and slutty girls already know exactly what to do to get in, OR they know a guy who knows a guy so they can skip the line entirely. There’s nothing explicitly explaining all the steps you have to take in order to get through, so you look like a boob with no shoes on and your shirt half unbuttoned when someone pushes you to the back of the line repeating, “Please put your sunglasses on the belt and try again.” I mean shoes, belts, sweaters, bulky watches, computers, toiletries, water bottles…You have to remember all of this stuff in order to breeze through. I fly almost once a month and I still usually forget at least one of these things. But the woman in front of me (who is ALWAYS in front of me for EVERY trip) hasn’t gone through a security line since 9-11 and has no idea that you have to completely unpack and disrobe in order to keep the line moving. Shouldn’t there be a detailed outline of how to get through security ON YOUR TICKET so it’s not a total moron-athon for 30 minutes (or 60 if you’re at LAX).
Why do they even put zone numbers on plane tickets? EVERYONE is in some elite club, first class, or Zone 1. By the time they even call Zone 2, it’s down to me and a guy who didn’t understand how to read his ticket.
I can’t comprehend how it could take so long for people to walk onto a plane, put a bag in a bin, and sit down. It took almost 45 minutes to load a standard-sized airplane, all the while the captain continued announcing the urgency of our taking places in a timely fashion so as to beat the incoming thunderstorm. Common sense would tell you that if you have an aisle seat, you probably shouldn’t set up a small wood-working shop immediately upon taking finding your spot if those next to your are still empty. You’re just going to have to pack the whole thing up and lay it all out again when they get there. At 5 feet tall, I usually throw my bag on the floor, stand up on the seat, and raise my carry-on up and over my head to keep the line moving. Otherwise, I’m doing the girl thing, “Oh, do you mind helping me? Hehe! I’m so small! Sorry everyone else who packed bags they could lift!” But I see other people who all but apply for new credit cards on their iPads while loading onto an airplane with no regard for the screeching halt they’re bringing the rest of us to.
Do you NOT NOTICE when your arm is clearly poaching on my already small seat territory? How do you not feel those invisible boundaries and how insanely uncomfortable it is when you cross them? You have under the seat-in-front-of-you space; put your feet THERE. Not on MY side. And if you’re going to use your tray table, please remind yourself you have elbows. And they’re on the same plane as my boobs. Oh, and if you are in an aisle seat and decide to take a nap, be prepared to get woken up. And don’t act all snotty about it.
I don’t check bags unless I’m traveling with Abe so I don’t have much to say about baggage claim, except that it looks like a small piece of hell on Earth.
The one good thing I can say about traveling by plane is that I get to listen to complete, often smelly, strangers talk my ear off in a confined space with no way of ignoring them unless I’m acting like I’m deaf.
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