What ever happened to the days when it was a big deal to fly on an airplane? When people would dress up just for the occasion, and you didn’t have to worry about sitting next to someone who looked or smelled like the Elephant Man? Or someone who might attempt to pay for their third drink at thirty thousand feet with food stamps? The days when some tiresome ‘security’ guard who doesn’t speak passable english wouldn’t hassle someone like my dad for having (gasp) a full size cologne in his briefcase? The days when you didn’t have to gather all of your toiletries and makeup, check each one to see if it was over or under the allowable amount of ounces, and then figure out how you were going to get it all to fit in a quart size plastic bag, because you can’t put it in your checked baggage lest a minimum wage government worker monkey on a power trip were to take his giant egg beater and whip it through your suitcase, wrinkling your clothes, breaking your breakables, and loosening product caps enough so they’ll ooze fluid all over everything?
Only two more hours until I get to experience the joy of all of these changes, once again. Given that I very nearly have to bend over for a cavity check to search me for some hidden Bumble & Bumble every single time I fly, I’m pretty sure the terrorists have already won. It’s clearly a war on hygiene. An assault on your sense of smell. How did I get on this extra-hassle-terrorist-watch list? I’m pretty certain that by virtue of the plain fact of the size of my waistline, I don’t have nearly enough strength of character to believe in any cause enough to die for it. Just saying.
Lesley called me yesterday to request that I not miss my flight like the best man did yesterday–there’s not much chance of that, as unlike him, I didn’t find it to be a priority to go out drinking the night before.
Forewarned is forearmed, though–I STILL might not make it to Wisconsin, if only because if there are any screaming babies on the flight, I will surely take it upon myself to flush them down the toilet one by one.
My friend Tamen apparently almost got, and I quote “thrown off a plan” for some fiasco involving getting drunk, passing out in the aisle, waking up and yelling “I have to piss” as he ran down the aisle banged on the bathroom door.
He is my friend, but I hope never. ever. to fly anywhere with him.
Also: Icon love.
Remember to get them to fit down the hole you’ll have to use your boot.
My rule used to be, if it doesn’t take batteries, it doesn’t go in my carry-on. But that’s not worked out so great for me the last couple flights… twice now they taken every item out of my bag (cameras, lenses, flash, gameboy, pocket pc, etc etc), swabbed it and scanned it with their little explosives machine.
I’ve always just put my toiletries in ziplock bags and placed them in my suitcase. Usually the ziplock contains the leakage. I would be worried about glass-bottle items though.
Have fun in Wisconsin. Assuming that’s possible, I’ve never been.
Oh, it’s possible! You just have to know where to look for it
Green Bay with a Chicago Bears jersey on?
I’m pretty sure that someone doing that isn’t looking for fun, but rather suicide via enraged fans.
What ever happened to the days when it was a big deal to fly on an airplane?
They ended about 2 weeks after the Wright Brothers’ flight.