I, too, hate flying and all its accoutrements. I hate airports; people who work in airports, specifically and profoundly the people who work in airport security who act like they own the airport, the planes, and the air we breath; other people who go to airports to be tortured by the people who work in airports; airport food/bathrooms/lines/seating; airport loudspeakers that speak incomprehensibly; airports the size of Rhode Island (most major ones) requiring a two-day hike to get from Point A to Point B; every single aspect of boarding a plane; every other person who boards a plane with me — strangers with whom I will sit too closely, hear too closely, and breathe too closely for way too many hours (even one hour is too many); every child on a plane whom I would adore outside of a plane; seats on a plane — too close, too many, too stiff, too lacking leg room; overhead storage on a plane — too tight, too high, too inconvenient; restrooms on a plane because they are restrooms on a moving plane in the air and there is no way they can be roomy enough, comfortable enough, or clean enough and because they jostle you like a football player’s brain when slammed against the ground; the airplane stewards or stewardesses or attendants or servers or whatever they are called and their way of acting like they care until you see them sitting in the front making fun of all the dupes in coach; everyone on a plane that has a seat better than coach which is everyone not in coach; the recycled, reused air you are forced to breathe for hours; every sound that every person makes on the plane; trying to get up from a seat, particularly a middle seat, on a plane — something that cannot be done gracefully or without falling on the person(s) between you and the aisle; walking on a plane while lurching over everyone seated between you and wherever you are headed which is surely the detested plane bathroom; the food on a plane if you receive any; the fact that you rarely receive food on a plane anymore; the annoying carts from which beverages are served; people eating or drinking anywhere near me on a plane; me eating or drinking on a plane; the taking off, flying, and landing of a plane; any instructions or warnings given on a plane — all provoke fear; every single part of debarking from a plane; waiting for luggage; waiting for luggage that does not appear; making a report of the luggage that didn’t appear; leaving an airport — there is no easy, efficient, or comfortable way to leave an airport — I either wait in lines on too cold, too hot or too wet sidewalks for cabs, buses, or cars that take more hours to arrive than the time I spent on the airplane or I hike to a parked vehicle in a distant state or I wait (see above) for a shuttle where I am crammed in next to more people I don’t like who are just as tired and frustrated and disturbed as I am. Once I arrive at the parked car in a distant state, I sit in a line as long as the Long Island Expressway to pay an outrageous sum for the privilege of having parked in an open field in a distant state. And, I do all of this while in a state of panic that someone will blow up the airport or the plane, or will highjack the plane, or that airport security will deem me unacceptable and slam me to the ground, or I will watch someone else being slammed to the ground, or I or someone on the plane will be forced to give up a seat that I or he/she paid way too much to occupy, and if I/she/he won’t willingly give up said seat, I/he/she will be dragged from the plane we did not want to be on in the first place.

This is why I now only travel long distances by train. Some, but fewer, of the same problems and inconveniences which seem less dire when experienced while having plenty of leg, seat, and storage room for which I pay a much smaller sum.

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I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.

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