Travel Trauma

I (it is actually Brad) have determined that years of summer road trips growing up have ruined my ability to effectively and efficiently live in the air travel world. I don't have a cool phone or device to quickly compose and send text messages or browse the internet during all of the down time. I don't have the perfectly sized carry-on bag to avoid the frustration of watching 200 other bags emerge from the baggage claim mouth before mine finally makes an appearance. Truth of the matter, I was actually just happy it arrived at all and still in one piece. I don't have the timing and confidence to show up at the airport, get through security, and arrive at my gate 10 minutes before I am supposed to board. Thus I get there hours early and realize there really isn't much to do in an airport.

The plane trip to Vegas was literally like a scene from a National Lampoon's vacation movie. I got on the plane around 10:50 for a scheduled 11:20 departure. We get in line to have the plane de-iced and the pilot announces it will be about 10 minutes and then we should be in the air. They spray some formula on the wings and I'm sitting there watching it freeze directly to the windows. I'm no expert, but it makes me think they are just adding more ice to the plane. Halfway through the process, the de-icing machine breaks down. Seems relatively harmless since there are another five or six trucks de-icing other planes in our general area. I figure the broken one will drive off and they'll shift one over to our plane. Wrong. Another truck (apparently the de-icing maintenance truck) arrives and attempts a repair. One hour later, they determine the truck can't be fixed and it drives off. However, now all of the other trucks have also left to re-fill so we have to wait another 30 minutes to get de-iced. We finally depart at 1:05.

Once in the air, I became convinced there must be a hidden camera or some other television reality show filming me on this particular flight. I'd be the perfect candidate since I don't watch reality TV. I searched the internet but found no references to any reality shows promoting the fun of watching an infrequent flier endure countless situations on a single flight. There were crying babies, kids running up and down the isles, all but three people needing to use the bathroom – conveniently located one row in front of me, and the person next to me snoring so loud that everybody kept looking around to see where it was coming from. I also had the obligatory passenger in front of me needing to recline their seat all of the way back the entire trip, extremely comfortable with short, stubby legs like mine. Alas I arrive in Las Vegas and realize another annoying aspect of air travel. When you get there, you're still not really there. In a car, when you arrive, you arrive right at the doorstep of your destination. In a plane, you arrive in the general area you're supposed to be, but you have to use some additional means of transportation to actually get to your destination.

A mere 10 hours after leaving my garage, I arrive at my hotel and wonder how far I could have driven by now.