2007 is the year of airplane flying for me. I did my first flight into the sky back in the summer of ’93 when the family went to visit our grandmother who was still living in North Dakota at that time. After that, it was really random. I believe it wasn’t until spring of ‘96 when my older brother and I went to Washington DC, and then I didn’t revisit the friendly skies until my third year of college for a conference in New Mexico.
Anyway, this year it’s been busy for a guy who doesn’t travel much; I had Sundance in January, Pomona in April, Los Angeles in May, and now I just wrapped up my trip to Virginia (and don’t forget about my week long trip to Washington DC in two weeks).
The whole excursion of going to the airport and actually riding an airplane is such a unique experience (well, for me at least). As mentioned above, I’ve done a small handful of trips this year and what I am still trying to figure out is why are we always at a Security Level: Orange, which according to the Department of Homeland Security, that is just a fruit away from nuclear destruction. Yet there is not really anything intense taking place at any of the airports I’ve been. I want some kind of Marshall Law theme going on at the airport (you know, like scenes from The Siege).
Unfortunately my flights were not directly from California to Dulles International. I flew out of San Francisco and landed in New York City and then to Dulles; on the way back, I flew out of Dulles, then to Atlanta and then to San Francisco. From SF to NY I had the window seat and sat next to a married couple that couldn’t stop loving each other. Throughout the four hour flight the wife would lay in the husbands lap and the husband kept leaning in to kiss her head. At one point he looked like one of those mechanical birds that keep bending down to retrieve water. I never spoke to either of them until the plane landed.
While the flight was taking place, the Delta airline seats have little monitor screens in front of you, and there are various options you can choose from in order to entertain you. The popular one that many of the passengers chose was the fun Delta airline trivia game. I did not participate because I was more amused by the husband individual next to me playing. He got almost every question wrong. There were times when I wanted to snap at him. “No, don’t choose Macbeth! Choose Iago!”
When the plane landed at JFK International, the couple next to me started talking to me. The husband asked me where I was headed I then asked where they were going. He said to Ukraine. The couple had very southern accents. The husband sort of reminded of how Forest Gump spoke (I realize this is sad when the only male southern accent voice I can think of is a fictitious mentally challenged person).
“We’re going to Ukraine to visit some friends who we worked with on a mission together,” I then realized where this conversation was going. He began a series of questions.
“Are you from San Francisco?” I replied with no, that I’m from south of there, Santa Cruz to be more specific.
“Oh, well, we’re actually from Santa Clara. You know, we have our own church there. You might’ve seen it. It’s Santa Clara Progressive Baptist Church,” the husband then reached into his carryon bag and pulled out a postcard that advertised the mentioned church.
“It’s a great church, since you live in the area, you should come by and visit some time. We do great things like teaching people how to go to Heaven. You want to go to Heaven, don’t you?” At this point, I thought it would have been amusing to screw with him. I believe in Heaven, and I’m sure most people believe in some loose construct of Heaven, so of course, the typical answer would be yes. I just imagined giving an answer like:
“You know what, Heaven is a little overrated. I mean, everyone wants to go there. I bet you anything that it’s a little stuck up, and the food isn’t all that good. Why does everyone hate Hell so much? Don’t diss it until you try it.” But of course, I just responded with a polite yes and decided to move the conversation elsewhere. I asked more questions about Ukraine.
We eventually got off the plane; I had forty minutes to burn at JFK International. I finished the book I was reading and figured I should buy something for more reading pleasures. I had finished Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman and at the bookstore there was his latest book (that was just released on paperback), so it was meant to be. I would make Klosterman my theme for in flight reading. By the way, if you haven’t read any Klosterman, you should. He is one of the three reasons on why I have a blog.
The flight back to the west coast was a little different (probably because I didn’t have my Baptist married couple). The connector flight from Dulles to Atlanta was brief and I had a very enthusiastic flight attendant. She was the one who made all the announcements. At the end of the flight she did the typical “Thank you for flying Delta…” but kept talking. She went into great detail about the Georgia weather, how the exit of the plane is small so those who break six feet should watch their steps, the fact that there has been no time zone change because Virginia and Georgia are in the same time zone, although some people think that they are not. The last part was her mentioning that there were two passengers who served in our armed forces and wanted to thank them for their time and commitment for defending our nation. The passenger right behind me disagreed with that last note.
“Bullshit! Those bastards are killing innocent people!” no rebuttal on that comment. I felt bad, though, for the two soldiers who were on the plane.
The flight from Atlanta to San Francisco was estimated to be four hours and fifteen minutes, and, my god, that seemed like an eternity. Part of it was probably due to the fact that it was nightfall and I couldn’t really get an idea of what time of it was since we were traveling across three time zones and that I had no idea what part of the nation we were flying over.
Before the plane took off, the passengers behind me began their “lets not be strangers” conversation. Well, it was more like the male passenger started this with his fellow female passenger. The conversation was a series of questions.
Is Atlanta home for you?
Is San Francisco home for you then?
What made you move to San Francisco?
What part do you live in?
Where abouts?
What street do you live on?
What do you do for a living?
What made you go into that?
Were you doing that in Georgia?
Literally, it was a string of questions that lacked any hesitation between then. The male then went into detail on how he worked at a 24 Hour Fitness gym and how this woman should come by the gym and he will “treat her good.” I started thinking that this conversation was the basis of one of two things: either this 24 Hour Fitness gym man was absolutely horrified by awkward silences or I was overhearing the preamble to a date rape.
Luckily, the woman ended the conversation by dropping the H-word. Her husband was picking her up at the airport. Suddenly the 24 Hour Fitness gym man became silent.
So, as you can tell, I survived my series of flights. In a couple of weeks, I have more to experience. Some things that I learned from my sky travels were that cheese and crackers and a cup of ginger ale are probably one of the greatest things I’ve consumed. I made that my staple snack for each flight. Also, traveling through a lightning storm is some scary stuff (this took place about an hour outside of Atlanta). The Sandra Bullock movie Premonition is god-awful (this was the in-flight movie). It’s wise not to have a window seat if all you see is the wing. This happened to me on the way to New York City. I just stared at the wing and analyzed all the details. I kept thinking on why there were so many scratches or why those flaps would go up randomly during the flight or what’s all that goo? It made me slightly worry. But it gave me something to think about.
Anyway, this year it’s been busy for a guy who doesn’t travel much; I had Sundance in January, Pomona in April, Los Angeles in May, and now I just wrapped up my trip to Virginia (and don’t forget about my week long trip to Washington DC in two weeks).
The whole excursion of going to the airport and actually riding an airplane is such a unique experience (well, for me at least). As mentioned above, I’ve done a small handful of trips this year and what I am still trying to figure out is why are we always at a Security Level: Orange, which according to the Department of Homeland Security, that is just a fruit away from nuclear destruction. Yet there is not really anything intense taking place at any of the airports I’ve been. I want some kind of Marshall Law theme going on at the airport (you know, like scenes from The Siege).
Unfortunately my flights were not directly from California to Dulles International. I flew out of San Francisco and landed in New York City and then to Dulles; on the way back, I flew out of Dulles, then to Atlanta and then to San Francisco. From SF to NY I had the window seat and sat next to a married couple that couldn’t stop loving each other. Throughout the four hour flight the wife would lay in the husbands lap and the husband kept leaning in to kiss her head. At one point he looked like one of those mechanical birds that keep bending down to retrieve water. I never spoke to either of them until the plane landed.
While the flight was taking place, the Delta airline seats have little monitor screens in front of you, and there are various options you can choose from in order to entertain you. The popular one that many of the passengers chose was the fun Delta airline trivia game. I did not participate because I was more amused by the husband individual next to me playing. He got almost every question wrong. There were times when I wanted to snap at him. “No, don’t choose Macbeth! Choose Iago!”
When the plane landed at JFK International, the couple next to me started talking to me. The husband asked me where I was headed I then asked where they were going. He said to Ukraine. The couple had very southern accents. The husband sort of reminded of how Forest Gump spoke (I realize this is sad when the only male southern accent voice I can think of is a fictitious mentally challenged person).
“We’re going to Ukraine to visit some friends who we worked with on a mission together,” I then realized where this conversation was going. He began a series of questions.
“Are you from San Francisco?” I replied with no, that I’m from south of there, Santa Cruz to be more specific.
“Oh, well, we’re actually from Santa Clara. You know, we have our own church there. You might’ve seen it. It’s Santa Clara Progressive Baptist Church,” the husband then reached into his carryon bag and pulled out a postcard that advertised the mentioned church.
“It’s a great church, since you live in the area, you should come by and visit some time. We do great things like teaching people how to go to Heaven. You want to go to Heaven, don’t you?” At this point, I thought it would have been amusing to screw with him. I believe in Heaven, and I’m sure most people believe in some loose construct of Heaven, so of course, the typical answer would be yes. I just imagined giving an answer like:
“You know what, Heaven is a little overrated. I mean, everyone wants to go there. I bet you anything that it’s a little stuck up, and the food isn’t all that good. Why does everyone hate Hell so much? Don’t diss it until you try it.” But of course, I just responded with a polite yes and decided to move the conversation elsewhere. I asked more questions about Ukraine.
We eventually got off the plane; I had forty minutes to burn at JFK International. I finished the book I was reading and figured I should buy something for more reading pleasures. I had finished Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman and at the bookstore there was his latest book (that was just released on paperback), so it was meant to be. I would make Klosterman my theme for in flight reading. By the way, if you haven’t read any Klosterman, you should. He is one of the three reasons on why I have a blog.
The flight back to the west coast was a little different (probably because I didn’t have my Baptist married couple). The connector flight from Dulles to Atlanta was brief and I had a very enthusiastic flight attendant. She was the one who made all the announcements. At the end of the flight she did the typical “Thank you for flying Delta…” but kept talking. She went into great detail about the Georgia weather, how the exit of the plane is small so those who break six feet should watch their steps, the fact that there has been no time zone change because Virginia and Georgia are in the same time zone, although some people think that they are not. The last part was her mentioning that there were two passengers who served in our armed forces and wanted to thank them for their time and commitment for defending our nation. The passenger right behind me disagreed with that last note.
“Bullshit! Those bastards are killing innocent people!” no rebuttal on that comment. I felt bad, though, for the two soldiers who were on the plane.
The flight from Atlanta to San Francisco was estimated to be four hours and fifteen minutes, and, my god, that seemed like an eternity. Part of it was probably due to the fact that it was nightfall and I couldn’t really get an idea of what time of it was since we were traveling across three time zones and that I had no idea what part of the nation we were flying over.
Before the plane took off, the passengers behind me began their “lets not be strangers” conversation. Well, it was more like the male passenger started this with his fellow female passenger. The conversation was a series of questions.
Is Atlanta home for you?
Is San Francisco home for you then?
What made you move to San Francisco?
What part do you live in?
Where abouts?
What street do you live on?
What do you do for a living?
What made you go into that?
Were you doing that in Georgia?
Literally, it was a string of questions that lacked any hesitation between then. The male then went into detail on how he worked at a 24 Hour Fitness gym and how this woman should come by the gym and he will “treat her good.” I started thinking that this conversation was the basis of one of two things: either this 24 Hour Fitness gym man was absolutely horrified by awkward silences or I was overhearing the preamble to a date rape.
Luckily, the woman ended the conversation by dropping the H-word. Her husband was picking her up at the airport. Suddenly the 24 Hour Fitness gym man became silent.
So, as you can tell, I survived my series of flights. In a couple of weeks, I have more to experience. Some things that I learned from my sky travels were that cheese and crackers and a cup of ginger ale are probably one of the greatest things I’ve consumed. I made that my staple snack for each flight. Also, traveling through a lightning storm is some scary stuff (this took place about an hour outside of Atlanta). The Sandra Bullock movie Premonition is god-awful (this was the in-flight movie). It’s wise not to have a window seat if all you see is the wing. This happened to me on the way to New York City. I just stared at the wing and analyzed all the details. I kept thinking on why there were so many scratches or why those flaps would go up randomly during the flight or what’s all that goo? It made me slightly worry. But it gave me something to think about.
4 comments:
Ah air travel. I'm all about "what's that goo on the wing ... why are there so many scratches on the wing ... hey, does that passenger look shifty to you..." It's amazing I don't explode each and every time.
Maybe I do explode (at least expressionally), which is why I almost never get talked to/talk to my neighbor.
I took the initiative of not talking to the person next to me because the conversations all seem the same, you develop some kind of awkward moment when you realize there isn't anything else to talk about really, and usually I can't hear them and vice versa due to the cabin pressure and all the hummings going on. And sometimes, I manage to sit next to a complete dick.
Then of course, I do the whole "Which one of these passengers could possibly be a terrorist?" But then I move on to other wonders like "will that wing fall off?"
i've flown quite a bit in the last few years, and i really only have two rules:
1) always get a window seat (this is because i was in a middle seat during the 13 hour flight to south korea - NEVER AGAIN)
2) never talk to the person next to you. by and large, they're just not as interesting as whatever i brought with me to keep myself entertained. except for the last flight i took (JFK to Vegas), where i sat next to a young italian couple. i knew they were italian because the man was a) very hirsute, b) wearing a football jersey covered with italian football logos, and c) he brought a football with him as his carry-on. we had some interesting conversations in broken english, the most amusing of which was me attempting to explain the concept of time zones to someone who didn't know the word "hour".
i actually really enjoyed that flight. i got a handshake and double guns from my new italian friend as we deplaned.
See, I would take crazy Italians over crazy Baptists who fly to Ukraine.
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