Flying by the Seat of Someone's Pants

I pride myself on being just prepared enough. When I'm traveling, I always have an eye toward balance. I pack only what I'm mostly sure I'll need. For something to actually make it into my suitcase, the chances of use have to be, let's say, at least 50/50. Otherwise, it stays home. I soothe any doubts I may have about the wisdom of that decision by telling myself that I can either buy or borrow another like it if it comes up.

It almost never comes up.

Now, this means I travel fairly light, often fitting all of my necessities into a carry-on bag. With room. Seriously. So I could avoid baggage claim. But I don't because, well, I don't like to schlep a lot of stuff through the airport and I hate having my bag ransacked in front of strangers. Especially on the return trip when all of my underwear is dirty.

Let's pause from the scheduled program for a minute to talk about the current state of airport security. It knows no bounds. It knows no reason. It is in no way reassuring. Bookgirl says she gets it.

I don't get it.

My feeling is that anyone who's seriously motivated and even moderately creative can pretty much smuggle whatever they have a mind to smuggle through security or create an ingenious evil plan once within the confines of the gate. I've watched some documentaries on prisons. The term kiestering comes to mind. Among other things.

Instead I've been shook down--this is before I started checking my bag--for an eyelash curler (designed so you can't hurt yourself or anyone else), a double-ended blemish extractor (ditto on the personal safety caveat), and a handful of smooshed souvenir pennies from Disneyworld. Now the kind security people let me keep these items, with the exception of a couple of souvenir pennies that they somehow managed to lose, but the process was sure inefficient and my underwear (clean or otherwise) was plenty available for public perusal.

This is especially likely to happen when traveling through T.F. Green, Providence's tiny airport, with only something like 27 terminals, and an intercom system which is totally unnecessary because there's pretty much nowhere in the airport a strategically pitched voice couldn't carry. Yeah. Little PVD is maybe the most secure airport in the country. Way more uptight than LAX, SFO, or JFK. I'm trying to figure it out.

Still trying.

Anyway, I check my bag. But I still have a backpack of stuff containing: my tiny purse (just big enough to fit a credit card holder, my iPhone, a couple of twenties, and some chapstick); my blanket (if it's a red-eye) and little horse-shoe pillow; maybe a book; definitely ear plugs and a sleep mask (again, there's probably a red-eye somewhere in the itinerary and even if there's not, they take up hardly any room). This leaves me feeling prepared but not weighed down. Especially now that I can load movies and recorded books onto my phone.

So, last flight, after I checked my bag and moseyed onto my red-eye flight, I was expecting to sleep. After all, I had all the necessary hardware. Sure I was in a middle seat and the flight was booked to the gills. The steward actually had to walk someone off the plane because it turned out there wasn't a seat for that person after all. And this, of course, completely reinforces my heartfelt belief that the people in charge of security are less about ensuring our safety and more about annoying travelers until they trade worry for indignation. I mean, these people can't even manage a head count.

Definitely not smarter than a fifth grader.

Anyway. I get on the plane and I'm in the middle but I have my horse-shoe pillow so I'm a go on not waking myself up with the surprisingly startling head-bob thing that happens when one tries to sleep sitting up. A baby across the aisle starts wailing but I've got my ear plugs. The guy sitting next to me turns on what is, on a dark plane, a glaring overhead reading light and I just slip on my sleep mask. I'm warm enough and likely to remain plague-free because I brought my own travel blanket.

Heh, heh. I have officially whipped air travel's unruly ass. All I've got left to do is watch the flight attendant dance through the safety instructions--pre-recording means they don't even have to talk anymore, just do the arm gestures and play with the mask.

All in all, I'm feeling pretty smug. But mostly I'm feeling ready to sleep. And I can see no reason (what with the sleep mask blocking my view) why that shouldn't happen. After all, the shrieking baby is pretty much background noise now that I've got my earplugs in and the engines are roaring.

But.

Or maybe: butt.

As in the cruel reek that can only mean that the human being sitting next to me is kiestering dead puppies or desperately needs to see a nutritionist. The smell is unholy. And I know the person leaking it can't possibly imagine they're sneaking these little stink bombs out because it's the kind of tooting that usually leaves the tooter feeling just as queasy as their unsuspecting neighbors.

Only I'm not unsuspecting.

After the first half-dozen rounds of foul wind, I've got no choice but to suspect. And the thing is, it's a red-eye. I'm up past my bedtime and every time I start to doze off a fresh wave of rotten puppies rolls in. If I am nearly sleeping, the thing that awakens me is, well, let's call it sleep apnea. I stop breathing but, as you can imagine, this is not a long term solution. Or even a particularly viable short-term one.

At first I am embarrassed for the person who is doing this. Then I am annoyed. Then I am outright angry. I mean, seriously, go to the bathroom already. Poop out the puppies. People who are so clearly unwell should not be traveling on public transportation. Why doesn't security screen for this? It's silent but deadly.

So, anyway, next time, in addition to my sleep mask and earplugs, I'm carrying Vicks Vapo-Rub, you know, like the gross-anatomy students do. I'm pretty sure airport security will find a way to jack me up over it but, seriously--

Seriously.

Comments

[The Dol]

Hoo, boy! That was a good one!

And one quick bit of advice: keep the Vicks Vapo-Rub to less than three ounces.

I hate, hate, hate the airline security and don't get it either, Polly. If the 9/11 dudes could hijack planes with box cutters, somehow I doubt that 2.5 ounces of lip gloss versus 4 oz. of lip gloss is really going to foil any evil plots.

[Alice]

I'm hysterical here.

[GypsyGirl]

Loved your blog today! It is so accurate. Quite often have dealt with so many of these comic travel-type issues - and the red-eye adventures are tough! Well written, and as always enjoyable. LOL!

[Equipoise]

Eww eww eww eww EWWWWWW!!!!! That's awful! The vapo-rub is a good idea...just make sure it's less than 3 ounces...hehe

[Diosa]

Oh Polly, I hope that didn't last the entire flight. Ugh!

[White Rabbit]

oh my, you seriously have got me to the point of tears! That's hilarious

[karla]

I am sorry. That sucks.