Friday, September 23, 2011


I am lucky enough to be born in an era where airplane travel has replaced buses as more of the norm than the exception. Unlike most people I won’t thumb my nose at a good airport scan & squeeze now and again, as long as those TSA folks keep the rest of their rubber-covered digits to themselves. The only person I want poking around in my cavities is the dentist and even he has to pony up with a soothing gum-rub, 5 minutes of Nitrous ‘me time’, and a double-cup of spit water.

In general, I don’t mind most of the airport / airplane process except for the waiting. You see I have never been a good ‘WAITER’ and only a marginal cook. Since time ‘flies’ at the speed of light I want to fly that fast too. Oh sure it is fun to pass the time and look down at the little houses and cars but I already get that thrill from lording over a good game of Monopoly with my in-bred fam-clan. Nope, once you seal me up in a pressurized sardine can I want to set my Omega 3 Fatty Acid down and get the show on the road.

Despite my granite face and even harder head I obviously bore easily since my gray matter tends to turn a brackish green at high altitudes. This in turn is only cause for concern because my wife must find ways to keep me busy, with minimal harm to my fellow (and girl) passengers. Like a big Baby Huey, she usually brings me a bib and a ball-point pen so I can go through the Airline magazines and black-out the teeth of anyone caught smiling in an advertisement. Once complete, the same magazine gets my makeover of random stubble and wild crevice hairs, to bestow imperfect 5 o’clock shadows upon the Aero-rag's 'perfect 10' models.

As I make the third magazine pass to finish my obligatory cartoon speech bubbles with juvenile comments, my lizard brain needs additional stimulation beyond that screaming baby two rows up. I reflexively reach for my olfactory arsenal of tortilla chips and day-old tuna fish. Wisely but irritatingly my wife calmly backs me down and tells me to wait. WAIT? - Didn’t we already discuss this kitchen analogy? I am too old, hairy, and sweaty for THAT gig, especially when trapped in a flying aluminum cigar tube. From now on I think I had better stay grounded since apparently I am better suited as a ‘BUS boy’!